


This Is My Design

by makingitwork



Category: Criminal Minds, Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Aaron Hotchner is Hannibal, Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, Attempted Rape, Betrayal, Blood As Lube, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cannibalism, Consensual Somnophilia, Consent Issues, Dominant/Submissive, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, FBI, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, I go by the books which are different, I think that may be a spoiler, Lets bring in Nathan Harris, Lies, Like Will a little bit, Loss of time, M/M, Mental Illness, Murder, No spoilers for Hannibal I dont think, Not their blood, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Play, Rimming, Seizures, Set Up, Slash, Sleep Sex, Sleep Walking, Somnophilia, Spencer Reid is Will Graham, Spencer becomes murderer, Therapy, This is My Design, Torture, Twisted form of love, blood of people they killed, criminals, daddy-kink, graphic murder, probably not, should be a happy ending, this is a messed up story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't be rude, Spencer," Aaron warns with a piercing look, that try as he might, the lanky genius cannot place "God only knows what I'd have do to you if you were rude."</p><p>Spencer thinks about it. No, God won't know.</p><p>The Devil might though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greasy Hair and Clean Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really, really sorry, the Hotch/Reid pairing won out over the Derek/Reid pairing, I feel bad that it was so close, but the people have spoken!

Aaron Hotchner is a breath taking man.

He’s professional, sophisticated, high-functioning, polite- always, always, always, polite. A Doctor, a therapist, an ex-surgeon, a cannibal, a serial killer, an older brother, and an occasional FBI informant. He stands, sliding up his thick, silk, green tie, which matches his eyes. His jet black hair neat, his black suit fitting.

“What do you think?” Morgan presses, head of the FBI “Can you see him?”

“The man you’re describing…” Aaron turns with a tight smile “Derek,” he says more softly “You’re telling me he’s a genius, and he has mild autism, he’s on the spectrum, he has Asperger’s, an eidetic memory, an empath. I think putting him in the field would be a huge mistake.” His voice is firm, but he knows Derek, the young, ambitious leader, won’t heed his advice. “But I will take him on.”

Derek grins, slapping Aaron on the back “Thanks Hotch, that’s great, I just wanna make sure I don’t push him too far, you know? He could never pass the FBI mental health exam, but we’re gonna have to arm him, it would be good to know he’s being looked after,” Morgan’s phone chimes and Aaron manages to free himself to the dark mans touch. Derek’s too much of an alpha for Aaron, but he can’t get rid of him. Besides, with what Derek drinks, Aaron can’t imagine ever wanting to eat his liver. “Sorry man, I gotta go, you’ll be cool if Spencer shows up later? He’s real shy,” he grabs his coat, heading for the door “Cool?”

“Yes, Morgan,” Aaron forces a smile “Cool.” And he watches the man disappear, his smile dropping and a mask of distain taking its place. He massages his temples, sitting at his desk in the large therapy room, and he begins to draw. He draws Derek Morgan, strung up from the ceiling by his intestines, legs hanging gracelessly down, heavy, making him wheeze. He’s alive.

…  
…  
…

It’s many hours when there’s a hesitant knock on the door. It’s gentle. Barely a tapping, as though the person knocking almost doesn’t want Hotch to come to the door. The psychiatrist smiles, folding away the graphic artwork, and walking towards the door, he opens it with a gentle click, to see Doctor Spencer Reid. The man is almost the same height as Aaron, with hair to the middle of his ear, large black rimmed glasses on his face, and a dirty, tattered satchel half hanging off his shoulder. He won’t meet Hotch’s eyes, looking down at the ground, but he’s dressed impeccably, a high quality silk black waistcoat that matches his slightly too skinny, silk purple tie. With a light lilac shirt, and tight, dark denim jeans. It doesn’t make sense. The clothes suggest money, money and sophistication, but the dirty shoes and satchel, the almost greasy unstyled hair and ugly glasses contradict it. “Spencer Reid,” Hotch smiles “Come on in,”

Spencer swallows, hands clasped tightly around the strap of his bag as he steps into the large office “H-hello,” he murmurs quietly, and Hotch checks his watch. He grins, he loves it when people are polite, and Spencer’s exactly on time. 

“Please, take a seat,”

Spencer turns back to him, but won’t meet his eyes, instead, focuses on Aaron’s nose. A trick. You can’t tell if someone’s looking you in your eyes or at your nose, it’s probably something Spencer picked up so people won’t make fun of him. “Where?” he asks, a small smile tugging on his lips “Or is that the first game? You see where I sit and analyse that,” he turns, admiring the room “If I went for the chair in the corner, would you say I was paranoid? If I…” he stepped forward, running his hand along the expensive chair opposite Aaron’s desk “…sat here, would you say that I feel most comfortable in a school like environment?” He went for the centre of the room, where two arm chairs sat across from a low lying coffee table “And here’s where you don’t think I’ll sit, because I don’t like to be the centre of attention,” Spencer sat down on the armchair “Well, there we go.”

Aaron watches with a quiet sense of being impressed. He sits opposite Spencer, crossing his legs “You have an experience in psychiatry.” 

Spencer pushes his glasses further up his face, satchel on his lap, protected “It’s just like profiling. I’m a profiler. You could be a profiler.”

“Do you like profiling?”

“I love it,” he nodded, wringing his hands, Aaron appraises him again, wondering how he feels about this one. Polite. Well-dressed. Yet…a mess of uncertainty. He’s thin, with bony wrists and Aaron wonders if he saw him naked, he’d be able to see the bump of each rib. He winces at that, Spencer’s not worth eating if he’s got no meat on his bones. 

“You’re very thin,” 

“A pipe cleaner with eyes,” Spencer agrees easily, and doesn’t seem to notice the change in subject. Hotch likes that. Easy to manipulate. But not so easy to confuse. 

“Who called you that?”

“An unsub I arrested.” Spencer examines Hotch, and frowns “Are you not going to write anything down? I assume Derek wants to know by heart exactly what I’m saying.” He looks like he's about to offer Hotch a pen to write it down with, but Hotch stops him with a wave of his hand.

“I will not be telling Agent Morgan anything you say, Doctor Reid, patient confidentiality,” his voice is firm and that seems to surprise Spencer, who shrugs it off, and looks around the room, eyes catching on the small balcony, that has shelves and shelves of books. Immediately, his body thrums with interest, and Aaron smiles again. It’s rare, for him to genuinely smile this much. “Would you like to examine them?”

“Y-you wouldn’t mind?” Spencer asks eagerly, leg bouncing with excitement, Hotch arches and eyebrow and Spencer sighs “My other psychiatrist, he had loads of books, but he wouldn’t let me touch them. His name was Rossi.”

Rossi. Hotch will check him out, see if he’ll make a good meal. He stands, unfolding the ladder that’s tucked away neatly, and hooking it to the top of the balcony, gesturing for Spencer. The man unhooks his satchel, almost reluctantly, leaving it on the chair and climbs up ladder, Hotch stays at the bottom, and Spencer instantly seems more comfortable. Ah. Hotch has to smile, yet again, because no, Spencer won’t sit in the corner of the room, or opposite the desk, he wants to be at the top, looking down, seeing everything, analysing everything. It’s a quality he shares with Hotch. “I have a question, if you don’t mind, Doctor Reid,”

“Spencer.” The lanky young man corrects “I get called Reid enough at work.”

“Spencer,” Aaron adjusts “Would you mind answering?”

“Don’t I have too? Isn’t that what therapy is?”

“This question is not normal therapy.” That seems to get Spencer’s attention, and he leans over the railing, holding a book, looking down at Hotch who has his hands clasped behind his back, Spencer nods slightly. Ah. His curiosity will be the death of him. Ironic, yet brilliant cat. “Where did you get your clothes?”

“My clothes?” he looks down at himself “From a…shop?”

“You mean, you bought them yourself?”

“Yeah,”

“They look expensive.”

Spencer turns from the railing, more interested in the book now “They were,” And now that doesn’t make any sense to the older man. Spencer doesn’t seem like the type to care what he looks like, let alone spend thousands of dollars on clothes. He loves it when people are interesting. 

“Why did you spend so much on something you don’t care about?”

“Because everyone else cares, Doctor,”

“Call me Aaron, please. Or Hotch, if you prefer.”

Spencer grins, but tries to hide it “But you don’t like the nickname Hotch. Helpful hint, people will stop calling you that name, if you stop offering it to them as a way of referring to you.”

“I like to think it makes me…approachable.” He’s happy that this time, he makes Spencer laugh. There’s an amicable silence, and Spencer swallows

“If you dress well, and put time into your appearance, it takes people much longer to realise that you’re wrong.” He sighs, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear “A few years ago I came into some money after a friend died. I didn’t realise he’d left me anything, it was a surprise…” he shook his head “$20,000, and a word of advice. Appearance is important. I went to the shops, and this very nice woman called JJ, used every cent of it on clothes, all organised into outfits.” He smiles sheepishly “I’m not great at matching things apparently.” 

“Have you ever considered contact lenses?”

“Yes, but I don’t want them.”

“Why?” Spencer shoots him a desperate look, which tells Hotch he doesn’t know why. But Aaron does “You want something else to hide behind.” He shakes his head “Clothes are one thing Spencer, but if you want to hide who you are, you need to do a better job. No more glasses. A new hair style, a better satchel.”

Spencer takes the pointers, but leans over the railing again “Aren’t you meant to cure me? Not show me how to hide?”

Aaron shrugs, checking that his cufflinks are secure “What do you think needs curing?”

“Well I…” Spencer stops by the window at the balcony, and looks out “I sleepwalk. I have…black outs, and wake up places, and I have no idea how I got there,” he rubs his face tiredly “Sometimes I’ve driven there, can you even imagine? Driving while…god, I’m not even conscious. I experience a…” his voice is shaky “Loss of time. I can’t,” he closes his eyes “I can’t look someone in the eyes, and I have tremors, nightmares, my mind doesn’t work right, I have headaches, light sensitivity, I have a history of seizures, sometimes I forget to eat. Actually…that happens a lot. I wake up, and I just…forget.” He frowns "Doesn't my file tell you all of this?" Hotch ignores it.

Aaron’s never felt sympathy before, and he didn’t feel it in this moment. But if he was ever going to feel it he would feel it now. “Sleepwalking, blackouts, loss of time, tremors, nightmares, headaches, light sensitivity, seizures, avoiding eye-contact, forgetting basic needs.” He repeats, barely managing to hide the desire in his voice. This boy is deliciously ripe for taking. “You seem to be functioning very well for someone who experiences all of those things.”

“I know they’re signs,” Spencer whispers “That I’m insane.”

“If you were insane, how come your previous therapist didn’t commit you?”

“Derek wouldn’t let that happen,” and there’s a gentle sigh to his voice. Hotch doesn’t like it. Spencer cares for the leader of the FBI, for the ebony-skinned agent who’s forcing Spencer out into the field. Forcing his mind to edge.

“I would very much like to help you, Spencer,” Hotch says quietly “But in order for me to do so, I need time. And nice clothes aren’t buying me enough time.”

“You want me to get a haircut, contacts and a new satchel?” Spencer seems incredulous “Just how much time will that buy you?”

Hotch grins “Enough.”


	2. Something Italian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch likes the fact he'll have to be on edge all the time with Spencer. He knows one day the kid will put the whole thing together, everything will click. He hopes by that time that Spencer is as infatuated with him, as he is with Spencer.
> 
> Otherwise...
> 
> The gates of hell will have to open.

He think’s Beethoven’s his favourite.

It’s certainly what’s playing as he slits Rossi’s throat, the man smells of expensive cigars and hopelessness. He was asleep, Aaron didn’t give him time to wake up- ever. The plastic that completely covered Hotch’s clothing was restricting, but he was well practised now, he surgically removed two of Rossi’s organs, placing them in a plastic container which was already half full of marinating sauce. It hadn’t been hard to find the man, he had published a fair few books, pretty famous in therapeutic circles, Hotch was surprised he hadn’t heard of him. 

He was about to leave, when he noticed the books lined on the highest shelf. Books Spencer had probably gazed at adoringly, wishing he could read them with his fumbling fingers and eager movements. He feels a sudden rush of anger at Rossi, and goes back to the corpse, plunging a scalpel deep inside the mans skull. It eases the rage. He picks two books off the shelf, sliding them into his bag, before leaving.

…  
…  
…

“What did you think?” Derek asked, sitting opposite Aaron on Hotch’s balcony, looking out over the garden “Of Spence, I mean? Fit to have a fire arm?”

Aaron has to smile at Derek’s hopefulness “You know the answer to that, Derek,” he says softly, leaning back in his chair “He’s experiencing a lot of symptoms but he’s…calculated. I’m unsure, but I think I can make him better,”

Morgan tips his glass forward “If anyone can Doc, it’s you.” Morgan grins to himself, reminded of something “Did he pull the shit on you about how profiling is the same as therapy?” Aaron nodded and Morgan rolled his eyes “I mean, the kid’s good, but that’s just stupid.”

“You don’t agree?” Aaron’s surprised. Derek’s smarter than that.

“Hell no, profiling profiles murderers, not everyday people. Like now, I can’t profile you because you’re not a murder.”

Ah. Not so smart then. “Did you tell him that? That you think the ideas ‘stupid’?”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded “Felt kinda bad about it, kid’s pretty sensitive.”

“He is an empath, Derek, isn’t that why you put him there? Out in the field? To solve your crimes? Isn’t that why you’re risking his mental state?” He’s unable to hide the cruelty from his voice, the hatred glimmers through on the lowest level. Hotch is almost ashamed of himself, he has better self-control than that.

Derek frowned, stiffening at the accusation “I have too. He can put….he can put crime scenes together like no one I’ve ever seen. He catches them, normally before a second murder even occurs, he’s gifted-“

“And fragile.”

Derek grinned easily “Well…that’s why I sent him to you.”

…  
…  
…

Three seconds before the scheduled appointment at 8pm, there was a knock on the door. Aaron smiles, opening it right on time, and there was Spencer. Hotch had a new fondness for the boy, he was obedient. Probably everything Aaron would ever want in a son if he had one. Or a partner. His hair was cut, properly washed, into a boy band style of fumbling curls that tumbled into his forehead. His glasses were gone, and his eyes wide and glittered. Perfectly well dressed as always, green shirt, dark green thin tie, silk black waistcoat, tight jeans, new satchel over his shoulder, this one black and leather, and it smelt new. “H-hey,” he nodded, looking down, unable to meet his eyes. 

“Spencer, right on time,” he opened the door, “Please come in,” Hotch himself looked impeccable, perhaps more so than Spencer, in a crisp white shirt, beautiful deep dark blue, thick, high quality tie, grey jacket, and matching pants. He watched Spencer hover uncertainly by the armchair in the middle, and smiled, he gestured to the balcony “You can go up, if you like,”

“Y-yeah?” Spencer removed his satchel, and climbed up the already there ladder eagerly, before sitting cross legged on the ground near the railing, weaving his arms through the bars and looking down at Hotch. Hotch grinned at the casualness of it all. Good signs.

“Have you eaten today, Spencer?” he asked, while going to his desk and opening the draw, bringing out a container of pasta, and a fork. 

“Uh…” there was a frustrated sigh “I don’t remember.”

“Well, here, I brought this for you,” he climbed up only the first two steps of the ladder, and held out the container for Spencer, who eyes it curiously “Just some pasta and meat, I’m something of a chef.”

“For me?” Spencer frowned, taking it, careful to ensure their hands didn’t touch. Alright, no psychical contact. “Thank you,” he murmurs, setting the container to balance on his crossed legs and popping open the white container, it smelt delicious of herbs and meat. Tangy and addictive. “Smells great, no one’s ever made me food before,”

“Not your parents?”

“My mother was…she wasn’t well. Didn’t realise I should start eating. Fed me milk and pills till I was 4, and I realised I had to eat more. Started stealing bread from the kitchen. She was…” he shook his head, picking up the silver fork “…so angry, when she found out, I…I swore I’d never do it again,” Spencer spears a piece of pasta and brings it to his lips, quirking a smile “I started stealing ham instead.”

Hotch had to smile at that, watching Spencer take a bite of the pasta, and the small hum of contentment, and then Spencer took a piece of the meat in his mouth, and looked down at Hotch curiously, partly in awe.

“This is delicious,” he murmured “What meat is this?”

Aaron had to smile, most people found the taste off, but Spencer- he knew, he had known Spencer would like it. He saw himself, parts of himself in the boy. “I’ll check when I get home, something Italian,”

“It’s amazing.” Spencer grinned, continuing to eat. Manners, beautiful, beautiful manners, he spoke only after he’d finished swallowing. He ate quickly, but savoured each mouthful. Happy to show his gratitude and to complement the host. He was perfect. He finished, and sealed the container along with the fork neatly at the side “I’ll wash them and bring it in next week.” So courteous. Hotch wonders for a very brief moment if God does exist. To have brought him someone so perfect. Maybe not God. Maybe the devil. 

“About that, Spencer,” Aaron sighed, sitting in the armchair, looking up at lithe genius comfortably “I want to move our sessions to three a week. Monday, Thursday, Sunday.” Spencer pressed his lips together so Aaron continued “I can cure you, I just need to see you more. Is that alright?”

“It’s not the extra sessions I have a problem with,” Spencer admitted to Aaron’s surprise “I just…getting here is difficult for me. I don’t like driving, so I always tend to walk, would it be possible to have the Thursday sessions at my apartment?”

“Do you have any pets?”

“I have a golden retriever named Zeus.”

Damn. Hotch can’t stand dogs. The animals, they can…smell it on him. They recognise the predator that he is. They’re messy and their barking annoys him. Once they’re trained, they’re considerably more tolerable, but they’re nervous around the tall, dark haired man. They know what he does. “Maybe my house would be best.”

“Where do you live?”

They work out all the details, and all is calm again. “So, Spencer,” Aaron says quietly, crossing one leg over the other and flexes his fingers “Why dogs? You don’t seem like the pet type, please take no offense,”

Spencer smiles down at him, almost meeting his eyes, so close, it’s disappointing when he doesn’t look up above Aaron’s cheeks, but it’s still progress. “I don’t think I could ever take offense to something you said,” his lips quirk “You’re always so polite.” Spencer thumbs the toe of his shoes “Dogs are easier than people.” He said quietly “You don’t have too…pretend from them, you know? I don’t need to dress well, or act, they see me, and they like it.”

“They?”

“I may have…3 dogs.”

“Zeus…”

“Zeus, Prometheus, and Icarus.”

“You have a thing for Greek Mythology?”

“Something to add to my profile?” Spencer half teases, and leans back on his hands, so Hotch doesn’t have quite a good view of his face. His tone becomes thoughtful “I have a profile of you too, you know. I might as well be your therapist too,”

“Would that make you feel as though the power divide here were more equal?” Aaron probes “You don’t like the dynamic of our relationship. You don’t want to be seen as a patient, so you want us to be equals.”

“Something like that.”

“Alright,” Aaron nods “Be my therapist too, we’ll have ‘profiles’ of each other. Does that make you feel better?” and his voice isn’t patronising. Spencer nods. “So,” Hotch licks his lips “What’s your profile of me like?”

“I tell you, you have to tell me mine.”

“Equals.”

“You’re well-read,” Spencer begins easily, and it comes off fluently from his tongue, and why shouldn’t it? This is his job. He does this every day. “But you didn’t have the best education, your intelligence didn’t come from money, it came from hard work. You like to be in control, to have power, but you don’t like to be obvious about it. Subtly is your art. You remind me of…a predator. An intelligent predator.” Aaron has to stiffen now, because this can’t happen. Spencer can’t know who he is already, he doesn’t have enough on the kid to even the playing field. He stands, trying to get a better look at Spencer’s face and the young man presses his face down against the bars so Hotch can see the glint in his eye, the grin on his lips. “You…stalk your pray, and you catch them. And you make the ones that deserve it suffer.” He pauses for dramatic affect

“Do you have something to say, Spencer?” Hotch asks tersely, fingers sliding into his pocket, to curl around the scalpel 

“I’m surprised you didn’t recognise it,” Spencer frowns, all trace of teasing and knowing and slyness gone “It’s a quote from Winston Churchill’s biography, ‘Man at War’, he was describing German soldiers?” Pure relief is coursing through Hotch’s veins. Dammit. This kid was going to be the death of him. The thought excited him immensely. “Aaron?” Spencer’s voice floats down to him “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Aaron leaves the scalpel in his pocket, clasping his hands instead “I’m just surprised I didn’t get it, too.”

“Maybe you’re tired?” Spencer offers, sighing, before grinning “As your therapist, I suggest you go home and get some rest.”

Aaron grins, and then thinks about something. “You said you experience sleep walking, when you go to bed, what do you do to overcome that?”

“I’ve taken to handcuffing myself to the bed frame,” Spencer shrugs, and dear lord. If that doesn’t conjure up a delicious image. Of Spencer writhing, slick with sweat, tugging in the night at his restraints, murmuring delirious with sleep. He wonders what Spencer wears to bed. Nothing expensive, but probably something warm. He imagines a shirt riding up to reveal smooth marble skin, and he wonders if Spencer’s flat, or lightly muscled. It doesn’t matter. By the time Aaron is done with him, it’ll be the latter. 

“Working?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I know how to undo them, sometimes I don’t. Normally a good indication is if I wake up with them on, I wouldn’t do them back up, I don’t think.” He looks down at Aaron gratefully “Thank you for all of this, by the way…you don’t make them seem like therapy sessions, you’re like a…friend?”

“Friend?”

It tastes foreign on both of their lips.

“Why don’t you like dogs?” Spencer asked quietly

Hotch smiled “I do like them. They don’t like me.”

“I used to have that,” Spencer chuckles “My mom called it the ‘Reid Effect’.” He rotates his shoulders, trying to relax “…Derek’s giving me a gun tomorrow,”

“I know,”

“You told him not to give me one,”

Aaron is surprised by that. The thought of Derek discussing his views with Spencer behind his back was…something he hadn’t considered, but he should have. Morgan’s eager to talk about Spencer behind the young man’s back, he wouldn’t be adverse to switching it the other way. It irritates Hotch that Spencer and himself couldn’t talk back. Neither trust each other enough. So he plays along. “I did.”

“You think I’ll snap suddenly and start shooting everyone I can?” Spencer’s voice quivers, and the poor thing’s confusing want with fear. Spencer thinks he’s afraid of killing people, no, no, no, Aaron sighs in his head, he’s eager for it. He thinks Spencer would be beautiful after killing all those people.

“Do you think that?”

“I think…it’s been a long time since a blackout.”

Huh. The blackouts scare him most. The loss of time. Interesting. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised. Everything about Spencer is interesting. “Do you believe in God, Spencer?”

“God?” Spencer laughs, bitterly “With the things I’ve seen? No.”

Hotch tries to hide his smile. 

It’s the right answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 Comments, and the next chapter will magically appear...  
> x


	3. It's my job to help you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And maybe Aaron Hotchner is impressed, because the darkness in Spencer Reid is darker than the one in himself. Maybe, that's why the little tingle of terror, mixed with lust, whenever he looks at the young agent, is so incredibly tempting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys!  
> x

“I didn’t mean to do it.” Spencer whispers blankly, sitting in the centre of Hotch’s office, not high from his vantage point. He doesn’t look away from the crackling fire. Still in his wool coat, he’s not getting comfortable. He’s still shaking. Hotch pours him wine, but Spencer doesn’t touch it. His fingers are shaking too much to pick up the glass “I didn’t, I tried to talk him out of it, I said ‘Jason, you don’t wanna do this, she’s your daughter’, but he…” he shakes his head “He didn’t listen, he moved his hand, and god. God…” he shakes his head again, hair caressing his forehead, sending shadows across his soft lips “So much blood. I shot it, and the first time, I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron soothes from across Spencer, but he struggled to hide the excitement. Its wonderful, that Spencer’s taken his first life, and it seems to be a sign that he’s killed one of Aaron’s biggest enemies, Jason Gideon. He wishes he had been there. Wishes he could have seen Spencer’s finger pull the trigger. Was he shaking? Was he confident? “So the first shot, you had to do it, he had a knife, he was coming at you,” he pauses “What about the second time?”

“The second time was…” Spencer looks into the flames “He was already on the ground,” his shoulders slumping “I…” he can’t find the words, so Hotch slots them in for him.

“The second, third, fourth and fifth time were because you wanted too. Your first shot killed him, Spencer," He lets that sink in, and it draws a quiet intake of breath from the lanky genius "The rest was you standing over a dead man and shooting at his face and chest. You were angry, weren’t you? Of course you were, he’d just killed his daughter in front of you, and all those bodies you found, you were angry…”

“I…”

“It’s alright, Spencer. Anyone would be angry. I know, if I’d been in your position, I would have done the same thing.”

“R-really?”

“Yes,” Hotch soothes him, and Spencer’s eyes prickle with tears, he shakes his head violently 

“It’s like it wasn’t even real,” he whispers, “I couldn’t even hear the gun, but I could see everything, I could see it.”

“How did you feel? Powerful?”

“Not powerful.” Spencer shakes his head and Hotch frowns. Spencer picks up the wine glass, and when he looks up at Aaron, his eyes are completely black. This isn’t Spencer now. Spencer’s deep inside his mind, gone, his empathy has taken over, and the darkness inside him of all the serial killers he’s ever met are talking. It's terrifying, because Hotch isn't sure how to approach pure darkness. There's not even a glimmer of Spencer here, and he shifts in his seat, as Spencer whispers; “I felt…divine.”

“Spencer,” Hotch calls clearly, trying to get the light back into Spencer’s eyes, because, yes, the darkness is divine, but Aaron wants the darkness and Spencer to mix, to become one beautiful being. The darkness on its own is too terrifying, too unpredictable, too messy, and Spencer on his own, can't do it. He needs both of them. “I need you to stay with me, Spencer.” Aaron's voice is calm, but his eyes are wide, watching, waiting.

Spencer is blank for two hours, and then he snaps back, shaking, shuddering, looking around the office, he’s sweating and crying, and murmuring about how he doesn’t remember sitting here for so long. He excuses himself quickly, apologising, whispering Jason’s name on his lips.

Hotch smiles, suddenly hungry.

...  
...  
...

“What are you thinking?” Derek asks with a frown, and Spencer exams the crime scene in front of him curiously

“I’m thinking this isn’t the same person who killed two days ago. This is someone, who’s pretending to be that killer. Slipping in his own murders, this crime scene is-“ Spencer gasped when he realised, and fell to his knees, Derek crouched beside him, touching his forehead worriedly, and Spencer gripped his wrist “Derek!” He cries, anguished “There’s been another killer the whole time!” The light from the alley way is only intense enough to show a frown on Morgan's face.

“What?”

“Every time we investigate a killer, one of the deaths, one of the deaths was done by someone else. Someone else who moulded the way they killed to make it seem as though they followed the same pattern but it didn’t- god!” He stood, running his fingers through this hair “Over 40 people,”

"Disguising his murders as others kill?" Morgan spits at the ground "Disgusting."

"No distinguishable MO," Spencer's face twists in anguish "No way to catch him."

…  
…  
…  
Aaron held the syringe behind his back, as he sat in his chair a this desk, as Spencer paced. Aaron felt…terrible. He didn’t want to do it, he didn’t want to harm Spencer, but the kid was too close now. He’d figured out the extra killer, he'd realised that someone was harvesting bodies. He had a profile that once he stepped back enough to examine, would lead him straight to Hotch. “I can’t believe I missed it,” Spencer whispered, waving his arm excitedly “Once I got back through the old cases, I’ll be able to find him, Hotch!” He turns towards the therapist, beaming, as Aaron walks towards him, deadly serious. Spencer frowns, stepping back slightly but Aaron eases him with a simple smile, and Spencer stops retreating. Blissfully naïve. Nothing like the darkness. “Why don’t you look more pleased?”

“I’m pleased, Spencer,” Aaron whispers, gripping Spencer’s arm tight, as the young genius frowns, he slides up Spencer’s shirt sleeve, revealing smooth, marble skin “I just wish you weren’t so good. A few more weeks would have been excellent.”

“A few more weeks for what?” Spencer asked, struggling slightly against the grip, and his eyes widened when he saw the syringe, he struggled violently “Aaron! What are you doing?! Aaron stop!” But Aaron just pierced the skin injecting the clear fluid, trying not to look at Spencer’s face, the anguish and pain, as he crumpled to the ground. 

Aaron looked down at the now unconscious body, sprawled out on the ground, and sighed, running his shoe along the inseam of Spencer’s thigh, towards his crotch. How easily would it be now? To fuck this kid that had been haunting his dreams? Too easy. He wanted Spencer to want it. He buried the urge to molest the genius, and instead, opened the closet in the corner of the room, and out fell the pretty blonde woman. JJ. Hotch had just planned on killing her to see how Spencer would react. Now he had much bigger plans. 

She squirms a lot, she’s lively, but she’s no match. 

He slits her throat, splashes her blood onto Spencer, presses the knife into Spencer's hands, and then handcuffs himself with Spencer's cufflinks, to the loop by the fire place.

He forces himself to cry, so that everything looks more believable.

And can't help but feel guilty. 

...  
...  
...

Spencer wakes up with a headache. 

He moves a hand to massage his temple, and his eyebrows furrow together at the feeling of wet. He looks at his hand, and swallows thickly. Blood. He sits up, touching his head and lets out a muffled gasp of horror as he sees JJ, JJ, his only friend in the world, dead in front of him, her face, an expression of horror. He moves a hand to stop the bleeding at her throat, but the blood has stopped flowing, it's too late. She's cold to the touch. And that's when he sees his other hand. That's when he sees the knife. "Oh my god..." he whispers brokenly, tears stinging his eyes as he stands, swaying violently, retching, sure he's going to be sick, and that's when he sees Aaron, cuffed to the fireplace, looking terrified and hurt. "Aaron?" he whispers, limping

"S-spencer?" his therapist whispers "A-are you...y-you, now?"

"What?" Spencer tries to think to the last thing he remembers, but it's all darkness, he can't remember anything after walking into this room. "I can't..." this feels like one of his lost time moments, his blackouts. 

"Spencer," Aaron's looking at him, anxiety on his face "JJ came in during out session, said she wanted to talk to you, then you...it's like...your eyes went all...black, and you picked up the ceramic knife, and you...god you killed her Spencer," his voice breaks "I tried to get away but you," he pulls at his arm, and Spencer can't move. "Don't you..." he licks his lips "Don't you remember any of it?"

"I..." Spencer can't breath, and he digs into his pocket to find the key for the handcuffs, he undoes Hotch's hands shakily, rubbing blood covered hands onto his face, and the smell of copper is overwhelming "Oh my god...I'm gonna...I'm gonna be sick-"

"Spencer." Aaron is standing in front of him now, hands on his shoulders, as he kisses his forehead, hugging him "It's okay. You weren't in the right state of mind, it's alright."

"I'm a murderer. I'm gonna go to prison."

"It's okay," Hotch whispers again "We can get rid of the body, clean up the blood, no one has to know-"

Spencer pushes away from him with an unholy force, eyes blown wide "What?" He cries loudly "I can't- we have to tell Dere-"

"You'll go to prison." Aaron says firmly "Spencer, you're very sick, you'll get years for this," he gestured to the violent gore around him. "They won't understand the problems in your mind, you'll be broadcast everywhere as a murderer." Aaron can see Spencer's face, stricken with fear "Spencer, I'm trying to help you,"

"Why?" and Hotch has to be impressed. Even though he's dealing with the possibility of prison, having killed his only friend, and almost his therapist, he still asks all the right questions. All the questions Hotch wishes he would keep to himself "Why would you help me? I tried to kill you!"

"Spencer, you're my friend," Hotch whispers "My patient. It is my job to help you." He gestures to the mess around them "Grab a towel."

Spencer sobs, but he does as he's told.

Aaron has to smile as they clean up, because Spencer's just a little bit more broken. The barrier between him and the darkness is cracked. 

Let the transformation begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, your comments, seriously. I love you all so much. Every single one of you.
> 
> Not the weird love, like Hotch and Spencer, but like, actual love.
> 
> Love you guys :) xx


	4. Regret is a type of guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron hates Spencer's guilt. It's a weakness, an inconvenience, a stupid Achilles heel.
> 
> So when he himself starts feeling guilty...
> 
> god knows what to do with that.

The blackouts get much, much worse.

He wakes up one morning in the middle of a field three miles away from his house, feet bleeding and scratched and he realises, he’ll have to start wearing shoes to bed. He’s covered in sweat, but there isn’t enough time to wash up, and he gets to work late, and Derek is the opposite of sympathetic.

“Where the hell were you, Reid?” Morgan snaps as Spencer rushes behind the yellow tape of the crime scene, putting more weight onto one foot, because the other has a deep cut from where he thinks he stepped on a rock or something. Luckily, it wasn't infected, and he would rather limp for the rest of his life, then drive a car while unconscious. “I called your house three times this morning, this job is important.”

“I know,” Spencer looks down, swallowing thickly “I’m sorry, I was out walking my dog-“

“Your damn dogs!” Derek snaps, “Do you not see the three dead men on the floor, Reid?!” He yells, and Spencer flushes, embarrassed, he never liked getting told off, but this is worse, this is his job, and this is his boss, and high school friend yelling at him in front of all these people. “We’re saving lives here man!”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer whispers, unable to look up, and Elle approaches them with a frown, she places a gentle hand on Spencer’s shoulder, and the younger one tries not to flinch away. Elle isn’t his friend exactly, but she’s one of the only other members of the FBI who truly respects him, who understands to some extent that Spencer’s very different and that he shouldn’t be pushed the way Derek is pushing him. She brushes her red-hazel hair behind her ear, and whispers with a deliciously Spanish accent 

“You’re limping, chica,” she brushes a lock of his hair behind his ear, and it grounds him, hearing that term of endearment from her. She's always called him that. Suddenly, he doesn't know what he'd do if Elle was ever out of his life. 

Spencer swallows thickly, looking up at her forehead “I tripped.” He wishes he could tell her the truth, she probably suspects it, he wishes he could offer her eye contact, of all the people he knows, she deserves it. But he can't.

She doesn’t believe him, but nods, turning to Derek, hissing at him to lay off. Derek relents and gestures to the crime scene for Spencer “Can you figure it out?” he asks, more gently, as if Spencer’s this fragile little teacup. 

“I need the area to be cleared,” Spencer whispered “I’m gonna have to get into their mind,”

Morgan nods, this is the normal approach, he clears out the crime scene, so it’s just Spencer and the three dead bodies, Spencer falls to his knees, closes his eyes and a pendulum swings, and he feels exactly how the person who killed these men feels. He’s startled when he discovers it’s a woman. She’s angry, as she beats the men with her bare hands, angry, strong, she uses her nails, because…these men are adulterers. He can feel it, the anger, his hands are almost shaking, and now because a part of the darkness is her, he is overwhelmed with the sudden urge to kill the men too, and he grips one of the corpses hard, screaming at it, when Morgan shoves him back roughly

“Spencer!” He warns “No touching the bodies.”

Spencer scrabbles to stand up, breathing heavily, and he nods, swallowing thickly “It’s a woman,” he whispers “And she’s doing it because they’re all adulterers, that’s why she scratches their backs, lovers marks,” he’s breathless “This is her design. She’s trying to show us why she does it,”

“A woman?” Derek looks up at the impending grey skies “She’s gotta be pretty strong,”

“But also beautiful,” Spencer adds “To lure them out here, they came here willingly, that’s probably how she knew they were adulterers. She tried to lure married men, and the ones that came…had to die. She thinks she’s a…a saviour, for their wives. Stopping them from getting hurt.”   
…  
…  
…  
Spencer’s shaking.

On some level, he knows he’s sleepwalking, some deep, very deep sense of awareness tells him so. But he can’t find it in himself to make that important. He knows his left eye keeps twitching, and he knows he’s already experienced a blackout…he wonders if this is a blackout now, and he’s just a little aware of it.

He looks terrifying to anyone outside. As he walks down the highway at midnight, wearing the shoes he laced up before he got into bed, and he’s wearing tight jeans, but no shirt. He finds it very difficult to wear his clothes now, they remind him of JJ, and that makes him indescribably heartbroken. He has his gun in one hand- damn Derek- and he walks with half black eyes, Spencer’s aware, but so is the darkness, and both parts of him are indescribably confused.

It’s by utter chance that he finds her.

He stops walking down the highway, and turns slowly, as if smelling something, looking through bleary eyes, confused, distorted figures, he sees a woman with black hair, stand from the ground, a man dead by her side. She has long, red nails. It’s her. Spencer raises his gun, and swallows “Get into your car. I need you to drive me somewhere.”

The woman, who doesn’t have any weapons, still finds it in her to quirk a smile of amusement “You don’t care about this man I just killed?” She gestures to the corpse in the darkness.

Spencer finds it very difficult to care. His voice is struggling, almost a whimper “I just really need to get to a friends house,”

She laughs, and Spencer tries to focus through confused, lidded eyes. She is pretty. Just like he thought she would be. She has green eyes, and black hair, with pale skin. He gets into the back of her car, and she slides into the drivers seat, he holds the gun to the back of her neck “Where to then, handsome?”

“7 14 Levenworth.” She starts the car, and they drive. 

“I’m Emily. Are you married?” she asks interestedly “Or do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.” Spencer, or the darkness, or both replies, he seems thoughtful “Girls don’t really like me.”

Emily meets his eyes through the mirror, and a smile tugs at her lips “I like you.”

Spencer looks away, and when they reach Aaron’s large manor, he grabs Emily by her collar, gun still at her neck, and forces her up the drive, he rings the doorbell, and waits, he’s so confused, he’s not sure what he’s doing here, and for some reason there are tears forming in his eyes. Is this a blackout? Is he sleepwalking? Dreaming? Nightmares? The door opens, and Aaron, in his night robe, swallows thickly, opening the door wider. Glancing out anxiously at the dark night streets, to see if anyone’s looking. There isn’t.

Spencer drags the woman to the dining room, and sits her on a chair, gun trained on her, and he starts crying. Aaron swallows thickly “Hello Spencer,”

“Aaron,” Spencer sobs, gun still trained on Emily “Is she really there?”

Emily shoots a nervous glance at Aaron, who whispers calmly “Do you remember how you got here Spencer?”

“Yes! N- I mean…no…” he shakes his head, shuddering violently, realising how cold he is without a shirt “I…I thought I found her, it’s her, right? She’s the killer, I found her, didn’t I?” He points at the chair, almost screaming, and Aaron places both his hands into the air 

“Spencer,” he whispers calmly “There’s no one there.”

“What?” Spencer breaths, looking at Emily through wide eyes, but everything’s distorted and he thinks he might be having a seizure or a stroke, but he’s not sure “Don’t lie to me! Don’t lie to me!” And his voice leaks desperation and despair.

“I’m not lying,” Aaron whispers “Spencer look again, there’s no one there,”

Spencer looks, and there isn’t anyone there. But then there is. And he’s going cross eyes, and he’s not sure what’s happening, when Aaron pulls the gun from his weak grasp, and turns him to face him. Aaron places a warm, soothing hand to Spencer’s neck, and injects him with a quiet shush. Spencer falls limp against him and Hotch places him into the recovery position, looking down at the shaking body.

“He’s experiencing a mild seizure,” he sighed, placing the gun onto the table, and sitting opposite Emily. His sister arches an eyebrow

“You don’t seem that concerned. I thought he was your new found love.”

“I did say mild.” Hotch reminded, but he’s angry “Emily, you’re getting careless. He could have killed you.” She simply shrugs 

“If you want him to be yours I would have had to have met him some time,” 

“And that time should not be when he’s holding a gun to your head.” Aaron stands, pressing his lips together in a tight line “As great as it see to see you in so long, and it’s great that you’ve taken to killing here, I’m gonna need you to leave now. If Spencer sees you again, it could confuse everything,”

“Fine,” Emily stands, wiping her hands and looking down at the still writhing body “Do you think he knows he was actually sleep walking?”

“No.”

“He’s got a pretty brilliant mind,” she murmurs, heading for the door “If he can catch a killer without even really being awake.”

Aaron has to agree. Emily would be incredibly impressed if she met Spencer when he was awake.   
…  
…  
….  
Spencer wakes up with a terrible headache, and Aaron is right beside him, wiping his forehead with a cool cloth. Spencer swallows thickly, looking up at his therapist, and wonders how he got so lucky, to find a friend like him. But he stands up, pushing Aaron away, and wonders why he’s only in his shirt- and then stops wondering. He’s too messed up already. 

“I was thinking, Aaron,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes “I don’t remember killing JJ, I don’t remember coming here last night. And I probably did something stupid there too,”

“You were about to shoot my furniture because you were seeing people,” the black haired man said softly. Spencer looks as though he was about to cry

“I came here with my gun? God, I…” he shakes his head, hair floppy and softy “You know I discovered there was an extra killer, with a buried MO? Who’s been killing for…ages?” Aaron nods, he knows only too well. “I was thinking…what if it was me?”

“Spencer,” Aaron whispers, shaking his head “It wasn’t you-“

“I’m a murderer, aren’t I? I killed JJ! Almost killed you- twice now! I don’t know where I go at night, and…” he starts to cry “I can’t deal with it. I’m going to Derek, I’m going to turn myself in-“

“No! Spencer-“

“Don’t worry,” Spencer soothes, opening the front door, and letting the cold envelop him “I won’t tell them about you helping me with JJ’s body, I’ll them I hid it on my own. Full confession,” a small smile tugs on his lips “Can you imagine?” He whispers, almost relieved “I’ll be able to go to sleep in a prison cell, and wake up there, knowing I didn’t hurt anyone,” and he’s so relieved by that fact alone that Aaron’s heart breaks a little. 

“Spencer, don’t.”

“I have too,” he whispers, eyes brimming with tears “I can’t live like this. I can’t live thinking about how…how JJ must have felt. When I…” he wipes his eyes viciously “If she…if she tried to snap me out of it, I can’t…” he takes a deep breath, wiping his eyes “I hope you visit me, Aaron, but it’s okay if you don’t,” and with that, Spencer leaves.

Aaron stands there, and for the first time in his life, regrets killing a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your. Comments.
> 
> I write every single chapter to the commenters and the kudos-ers, seriously guys- SERIOUSLY, don't think I'm lying here, I love you all so so so so so much. 
> 
> Seriously.
> 
> Like true love.
> 
> Like, let's all come together and eat a cake made of kitkat. 
> 
> I don't really care for human flesh like Aaron and Spencer over there.
> 
> I love you....


	5. Seeing the Serpent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Spencer wonders if it was the fancy suit, the acts of kindness, the buzzing green eyes, that managed to make him fascinate on the patterns for so long, instead of the teeth.

TWO WEEKS LATER

If he’s being critical, Derek believed him too easily.

And now, Spencer sits in a prison cell, the Quantico Prison for the Criminally Insane. He looks down at the orange jumpsuit, picking at it slightly. There are only two people down in this block, him, and the young man in the opposite cell. Criminally Insane…the guards are split when treating Spencer. Some are forgiving, understanding of the illness and mindful of all the bad guys Spencer has helped put away, others are the opposite. Meaner, rougher, spurting spew about the impurity of the justice system. 

“What did you do with the organs?” comes a tender voice, and Spencer looks up, his own hair is longer, unkempt, hanging down the side of his face, because he isn’t allowed a comb. 

“I don’t remember,” Spencer admits, moving to sit on the floor, facing the bars so he can mirror the stance of the younger man in the opposite cell “I don’t remember committing any of the crimes.”

“That must be hard,” the younger man whispers, hands shaking “You don’t even remember why you’re in here.”

Now that’s not entirely true. Spencer remembers the feeling of a cold, dead, JJ, remembers the look of a terror-stricken Aaron. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Nathan…Harris.”

A small smile tugs on Spencer’s lips, this boy has bundled blond curls and skin even paler than his. “I’m Spencer Reid. What are you in for?”

“I carved messages into women.”

“Oh.”

“You were…” he gives a shaky laugh “You were the FBI agent who gave the profile, that led to my capture. I wrote you a letter, to thank you. But I don’t think you ever got it. I think that other agent…Morgan? I think he ripped it up.”

“Sounds like him,” Spencer murmured dryly “And I’m not really an FBI Agent, just a Special Agent who consults for the FBI, I didn’t pass the mental stability exam.”

Nathan laughs, a genuine sound, rare down in these parts “I’ve read about your stuff. You do good work despite being unconscious.” Nathan stiffens at the sound of a guard approaching, and crawls into his bed, Spencer does the same, both lying in wait, as a guard pauses in between their cells, looking at both of them. 

Spencer’s lucky. This is one of the guards who pity him. “Spencer,” he says softly “You have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“Uh…” he looks down at the chart “A Doctor Hotchner, you gonna be good if I bring him to see you?”

“Yes, thanks Jack,” Spencer shoots him a small smile, grateful at the kindness, and Jack returns it, albeit briefly, before rushing away. 

“Who’s Doctor Hotchner?” Nathan asks quietly, and Spencer sighs

“My old psychiatrist.”

“You had a psychiatrist, a failed mental stability exam, a history of all those problems, and they didn’t figure out you were a killer till you confessed? Man Spence, you had them all under your thumb. Me? I had to write it on women to tell them how I felt.” They hear new footsteps now, ones that come from expensive shoes and Spencer looks up, to see Hotch. It’s the first time he’s come to visit, and Spencer can’t help the smile. 

“Hey,” he says softly. Aaron looks at him, disappointment in his eyes, and Spencer swallows thickly. 

“Your hearing is tomorrow Spencer, tell me you have a lawyer.”

Spencer blinks “I don’t.”

“Why?” Hotch’s voice is strained with anguish

“Because I’m gonna plead guilty to everything, let them give me the sentence I deserve.”

“Sentence you deserve?” Hotch echoes in disbelief “Spencer! You don’t even know if you committed all those murders! You could be getting sentenced for stuff you didn’t do!” His eyes flare in pain “You need a lawyer. At least someone to speak in your defence!” Spencer stared at him wordlessly, and Hotch tossed a container into the cell, Spencer looked down at the food. “It’s a protein scramble. Eggs, bacon, sausage. I heard you’ve been resisting food.”

“That’s because it tastes disgusting,” Nathan piped up, and Spencer couldn’t help the chuckle, as he pulled open the container, and ate quickly using the plastic fork. It was delicious, as was everything Hotch prepared. Aaron turned away from Spencer enjoying the egg and human meal to see Nathan.

“And you are…”

“Nathan, Spencer’s friend.”

Spencer perked up hearing that. Hotch frowned, taking in the scrawny kid, but then decided, it was good Spencer have a friend in here, Nathan looked scrawny, but he looked fight club scrawny, he looked like he could protect Spencer. “Pleasure to meet you, Nathan. Next time, I shall bring you a protein scramble too.”

“Really?” Nathan sat up, like a puppy heeling to a new master, and Hotch indulged him with a small smile. If he had not met Spencer, he would have thought Nathan was a perfect match to him, predator instinct, urge to please. But he had met Spencer. And compared to Spencer, Nathan was nothing. Spencer was a treasure chest, Nathan was a gold coin. “Spence, your psychiatrist is way better than mine ever was. But then again…mine was my mom, she was biased.”

“Thanks Hotch,” Spencer murmured, he had been starving, and the container was completely empty, he slid it out through the bars along with the fork, a gentle smile “The black outs are getting better.”

Of course they were, Hotch thought dryly, he was no longer injecting Spencer with drugs to induce them.   
…  
…  
…  
Spencer barely listened to what happened in court.

He saw though. He saw Derek take the stand, and testify against him, he saw JJ’s parents testify against him, he saw specialist after specialist testify against him, and eventually, even the lawyer against him started being kind. 

And then Spencer saw Elle stand up for him.

He cried, because it was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done. She put up a good argument, said all the right things, but too many points of view and not enough evidence had her pushed from the stand quickly. And then Aaron came up, and he testified on Spencer’s behalf, and Spencer shot him a small, grateful smile, but none of it helped in the end.

The judge said sentencing was tomorrow.

And he knew he’d get the death penalty.  
…  
…  
…  
“Thanks,” Elle sighed, as they walked out into the bright sunshine. “I’m not sure why you did it, but it sure helped, even a little,” Aaron arched an eyebrow

“You don’t believe he killed those people?”

“I know he didn’t,” Elle whispered “He’s my chica. My little brother. He didn’t kill JJ, even though the evidence is overwhelming, I just know he didn’t.” 

Aaron appraised her through new eyes. It seemed Spencer had two people looking out for him. “Shame the judge doesn’t feel that way.” 

“We did everything we could,” Elle sighed, opening her car “I’m heading over to feed his dogs, wanna come?”

“No thank you. But, Miss Greenaway?” She looked up curiously, and Hotch gave her a smile “You’re very polite. It’s been delightful to meet you,”

Elle gave him an odd look but laughed “Right back at ya, Doctor.”

Aaron watched her leave, before heading back inside the court room, into the judges chambers, he killed her quickly, not taking much pleasure in the act, but this was one way to ensure Spencer’s freedom. Hotch made it distinguishably him, removing the lungs and the liver, excessive torture, but perfect. 

This would prove the killer was out there.

This would prove Spencer hadn’t murdered anyone.

…  
…  
…

“You must be the luckiest guy in the world,” Nathan whispered “The day you’re meant to be sentenced for death, your judge gets killed by the killer you thought you were. You’re gonna be out in less than a week, man!”

Spencer frowned, closing his eyes “Something doesn’t make sense.” He whispered “Why would the killer show up now?”

“Maybe he didn’t want you to get the death penalty, or life, or whatever,”

“Why wouldn’t he want that?” Spencer massaged his temples “He would be free.”

“Maybe he cares about you.”

Spencer looked up, meeting Nathan’s eyes with wide, blown brown irises, and he remembered. Because of course he did. He was Spencer Reid, child prodigy with an eidetic memory, he pulled up his sleeve desperately, and there they were. Hiding in plain sight. Pin pricks. “Nathan…” he whispered, with a weak voice “Doctor Hotchner’s…the…he…” Nathan stared at him “The profile was of someone with surgical skills, incredibly smart, the ability to shift MO, someone who understands how the human mind works, Nathan…”

Nathan swallowed thickly “That sounds a lot like…”

“Oh my god,” Spencer pulled at his hair, choking on the stale, dirty prison air “He drugged me, he…he killed JJ, he- he used me!” 

“Wait-“ Nathan frowned “What’s he doing with the organs?”

Something Italian.

That’s what Aaron had said the first time he gave Spencer something to eat. He’d asked about the meat, and Aaron had said it was something Italian. A few days later, he discovered his old psychiatrist, Rossi, had died. Something Italian. Holy crap. Aaron had told him he was the killer right from the start. Spencer watched in his mind with a wince as everything clicked and clanked into place like the most painful jigsaw puzzle ever made. “He’s…” Spencer choked on vomit “He’s eating them.”

“What?” Nathan breathed “He’s- what?!”

“He fed them to me.” Spencer whispered through gritted teeth “He fed them to everyone, god, god! I complemented him on the taste!”

“That protein scramble,” Nathan couldn’t move “W-what kind of sausage was that?”

“Oh Nathan,” Spencer whimpered, lying on the cold cement floor, as it soothed his heated, disgusted face “He was playing us all. He works with the FBI on cases…no one saw anything. He framed me, then came in here…pretending to be on my side-“

“Why did he kill the judge?” Nathan asked suddenly, overcoming the disgust faster than Spencer. He was, after all, insane, “You said that whoever killed the judge cared about you…Hotch seems to…to care about you? He came in with all that food-“

“He just wanted to see me eat another human being!” Spencer cried, anguished “He’s a sick, narcissistic sadist!”

“Okay,” Nathan nodded, reaching out as though he could touch Spencer comfortingly through the space between them “Okay, it’s okay, you’re coming out of here soon, it’ll be alright,” Spencer reached a long arm through the bar, lying on the ground, and Nathan mirrored him, only three centimetres separated their fingers “It’s okay, Spencer,” Nathan soothed “I’m here for you. Like you were there for me, all those years ago,”

“Nathan,” Spencer choked, a solitary tear falling onto the ground “He’s the devil.”

“The devil was the serpent in the garden of Eden, Spencer. He was tempting. It’s not your fault,”

“I fell for the apple trick,” Spencer whispered, almost dislocating his shoulder trying to touch Nathan’s extended fingers “I fell for the apple trick.”

“Spencer?” Jack, the sympathetic guard whispered, keys out, he unlocked Spencer’s cell, and took him to Nathan’s cell “No trouble, alright?”

“Thank you,” Spencer whispered, crawling into Nathan’s cell and embracing the younger tightly. Seeking something to ground him. Something to keep him sane. Ironically, the craziest person in the prison, was the sanest person Spencer knew. “Nathan,” he sobbed “I trusted him.”

“Hey,” Nathan rubbed his back “It’s not your fault.”

“Who did god blame for the betrayal, Nathan? Did he blame Eve, or did he blame he serpent?”

Nathan smoothed down Spencer’s hair, “He blamed Eve,” he whispered, “But it’s not like that with you. Eve chose to take that apple, you were forced into it. You didn’t know. She knew.”

Spencer couldn’t help but feel as though he did know. Couldn’t help but feel as though he’d known the whole time.

It didn’t lessen the bitter, poisonous sting of betrayal, of being used, of being manipulated, of having JJ taken away from him, of being exploited. It hurt like the bite of a snake- of a serpent, and Spencer. Just. Couldn’t. Help. But think that he’d known he was playing with snakes the whole time, but like a little boy, he’d been more interested in their fancy colours and movements, rather than the sharp teeth.

Well, that was about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE YOU!  
> x
> 
> Writing these chapters make me hungry. That's messed up, right?


	6. My Share of Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Spencer thinks maybe he can dance this dance with the devil, only, he'll be secretly leading. He'll play Aaron, he'll find the evidence. He'll make it all okay.
> 
> But there's a crack, between Spencer and the darkness. 
> 
> It's too late for okay.

Spencer stood at the prison sink, his cell door wide open, as he did up his black skinny tie, a crisp white shirt on his shoulders, that he didn’t tuck into his tight jeans. He shaved quickly, running his fingers through his hair, and he stepped out, free. “Nathan,” he whispered, standing in front of Nathan’s cell, his friend stood up, half smiling

“You’ll visit me right, Doctor Reid?”

“Nathan,” Spencer’s lips turned down “You used to call me Spencer.”

“That’s when you were another patient. Now you’re free. Power dynamics have shifted, you know what I mean.” Spencer did know, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Nathan sighed with a small smile “Alright, go catch that cannibalistic son of a bitch, Spence,”

Spencer grinned “I will. And I’ll visit you. Bring you proper food, not made of people.”

“I think I used to like beef jerky, if that’s alright?”

Spencer nodded “That’s alright,” he said softly, turning to see Jack and another guard. Spencer glared at the other guard, who had treated him wrongly, he went up to him, hissing “You’re lucky I don’t report you and have everything taken away from you for how you treated me. Now you treat Nathan-“ he pointed to his young friend “anything less than perfectly, I’ll have you put in prison for misdemeanour and poor conduct.” Spencer leaned forward and whispered; “They don’t really like guards in prison.”  
…  
…  
…

“Elle?” Spencer frowned as he headed towards his house, his secluded little cottage, out of the door ran his three dogs, and he dropped to his knees, hugging them tightly, Elle grinned, stepping out. “What are you doing here?”

“Someone had to look after your mutts, chica,” she teased, and let down a little bundle that was in her arms, it ran towards Spencer, licking his hand, and he beamed

“Who is this adorable thing?”

“Another stray came through, the other dogs seemed to like him, so I thought why not,” she shrugged “I didn’t know any greek names to go with your other trio, so I just named him truth.” Spencer looked up and met her caramel eyes “Because I knew you were innocent, Spencer.” A smile tugged at his lips, as Zeus, Icarus and Prometheus relished his touch again, the youngest, newest addition, Truth, reminded him of Nathan. Looks weak, but incredibly strong. 

Tears sprang to his eyes. “Thank you so much, Elle. This is the…the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

She ruffled Spencer’s hair pressing a button on her keys that made her car jump to life “I also cleaned up the place, man Spencer, for someone so organised, you’re house was a complete mess. Did you even use the kitchen?” she chuckled, opening her car door “Order a pizza, alright?”

“I will, Elle,” he promised, and called after her “I really am grateful for you,”

She waved a hand “Don’t mention it,”

Spencer watched her drive away, before looking at his house with a grin. He was free. And yes, being behind the bars had chased away the headaches and the sleep walking and offered him relief, because he’d been free of Aaron Hotchner. But this freedom, this freedom was fantastic. He headed towards his front door, whistling for the dogs to follow, and looked around his nose clean house, fresh flowers cut along the window sill. Elle had made the place…brim with life. Kitchen cleaned, and glistening, all his books organised. He scooped Truth up into his arms and set him down into the little dog bed Elle had bought. Elle had believed in him. Believed he wasn’t the killer.

It was time to prove her right.  
…  
…  
….

Aaron looked up with a frown at the knock on the door. It was late, his office cloaked with darkness, but he stood, clasping the lid back onto his pen, and opened the door, face betraying his surprise, for their stood Spencer. And he looked…different. He was wearing tight black jeans, a crisp white shirt that was tucked in, the top button undone, and collar smoothed out onto the black sweater vest. His hair was styled upwards, almost in a quaff, and he had his coat folded over his arm, he smiled politely

“Good evening, Doctor Hotchner.”

“Spencer,” Aaron beamed “So good to see you free, sorry I couldn’t be there for the release, I was with another patient.” He stepped back, opening his door so Spencer could step in “I was going to visit you tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Spencer smiled tightly, he went for the ladder, and climbed up onto the balcony, pacing their slowly, while Hotch sat on the armchair, looking up. “I see…and would you have…brought me another protein scramble? I remember how delicious they were.”

“I could still bring one if you wanted,” Aaron offered carefully, watching the young man curiously. Spencer leaned over the balcony looking down at Aaron and smiled tightly

“Remember that pasta dish you first served me? The one with the Italian meat? Did you ever find out what type of meat it was?”

Hotch stiffened. “No…it must have, slipped my mind. I can check tonight, for you.”

“I see,” Spencer grinned, and pulled out his gun from under his coat, he aimed it at Aaron, and the therapist froze. “I know what you are.” 

“Spencer,” Aaron breathed “Let’s calm down. Tell me what you think you know.”

“What I think I know?” Spencer clicked off the safety “What I know is that you’ve killed hundreds of people, you’ve been injecting me to induce seizures and sleepwalking, you killed JJ, you killed the judge, you framed me for your murders, and you eat your victims!” Spencer spat at him “I know you take pleasure in watching others eat them too. I know you get off on having the FBI so close to you, and they never piece if together, well, Hotch. I pieced it together.”

Aaron looked up, a mixture of horror and pride coursing through him. Brilliant, brilliant Spencer, of course he’d figured it out. Aaron looked at the gun, and swallowed thickly “Spencer, you’re suffering from severe PTSD, you don-“

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” Spencer hissed, eyes watering as he shook his head “I know you’re not going to confess, but I prefer sins of omission to outright lies. You may have to pretend, but I don’t have too.”

“You’re right.” Hotch whispered, pulling out the scalpel from his pocket, as it glinted in the dim lighting. “You don’t have to pretend.” He stepped towards the ladder, but he knew that if he made a move, Spencer would kill him. The genius. Choosing to stand up on the balcony, Aaron wouldn’t even be able to run away.

“I trusted you,” Spencer whispered “I trusted you completely, came to you for advice, you…you used me. Manipulated me.” Aaron froze again, looking up with wide green eyes. Spencer was only upset about the murder of JJ, but he was mostly upset about…about the betrayal. All the cannibalism and the murders, they were on the backburner, the thing that hurt Spencer most, was the betrayal, of being used, of being treated, not as an equal, but as a set up. 

Hotch licked his lips “And how does that make you feel?”

Spencer barked out a mutated laugh at the ironic phrase “Hmm, well I feel like I want to kill you.” Spencer sobbed “For what you’ve done. For abusing your position of power. Of only ever pretending to be my friend. Pretending to be my rock, my sanity while everything crumbled around me, but you were only ever acting. You were never my friend, you never cared,” he waved the gun around, tears streaming down his face “You were making the world crumble. You left it so that I relied solely on you.”

“You’re wrong, Spencer,” Aaron whispered “I am your friend. I am your rock. I am your sanity, you know that, deep down. I only ever helped you see yourself, that’s what all therapists do.”

Spencer didn’t believe him. “I said no lies.”

“Then kill me, Spencer,” he whispered, dropping the scalpel “Go on, you know you want too,”

Spencer stared at him, a look of disgust on his face, but he lowered the gun, a look of thought on his face “I’m not going to kill you, Aaron. You’re the devil, you…” he shakes his head “You framed me.” He half grins, almost meanly “I won’t kill you. I’ll do something much, much worse.” And he climbed down the ladder, and left.

Aaron grins.

He’s trained him well.

…  
…  
…

“You’re still angry.” Morgan sighs, and it sounds so much like an accusation that Spencer has to turn and stare at him in disbelief

“Angry?” he whispers, as though that one word can’t possibly- couldn’t ever, ever, describe how he felt. His body shook “You…” he points at Morgan “You testified against me! Y-you said I was insane! You said I’d killed JJ! All those people, countless others, Mo-“

“Yes I testified that!” Morgan yelled back “Because you confessed! You confessed to all of it-“

“No, no, no no,” Spencer gives a bitter laugh, running his hand through tousled curls “You would never have believed my confession so easily unless I was a suspect.” He can see Morgan stiffen at that, and Spencer shakes his head in disbelief- hatred. So much hatred. “Say it, Derek,” he whispers “Tell me, I was at the top of your suspect list, wasn’t I?”

Derek swallows. “It was a mistake, Reid. We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah, yeah we do, you thought I was a cannibalistic serial killer despite going to same high school as me! How long have we known each other, you stupid piece of-“ He’s cut off by a police officer calling them over to examine the body. Morgan stares at him, before shaking his head in apology, and walking away. Spencer’s left standing there, shell-shocked. That anger, the anger that had erupted from nowhere. He quenched it down, and followed Morgan.

…  
…  
…

“I’m glad you came tonight, Spencer,” Aaron whispered, setting down the two plates of food and sitting opposite the young man. “This is Steak a la rouge with blue fish and sea bass,” he offered Spencer some spiced gravy, and the younger one took it with a smile, pouring it over his red steak.

“Looks divine, Aaron,” he nodded, taking a small sip of his burgundy wine “Who is this?” He cut the meat, and it fell apart, cutting like warm butter, it melted on his tongue. A burst of flavours and smells that tantalised his taste buds. 

Aaron grinned, “I’m not sure what you mean.” And that wasn’t an outright lie, he was trying to stray away from those. He took a bite of the fish, admiring Spencer “You aren’t worried it may be poisoned?”

“With you?” Spencer scoffed “No.” And as if to prove his point, he took a delicate forkful of the steak and fish together, he swallowed licking his lips “You are a spectacular cook. You would never ruin the flavours with poison.” He took a smaller bite of the salad, and had to admire how perfectly balanced this dish was. Aaron Hotchner would have made an amazing professional chef. From design, to taste, to palate, to spices, to matching wines. 

“I need to know whether you’re going to try and kill me again, Spencer,” Aaron admitted, sipping his wine, Spencer quirked a smile

“I don’t want to kill you anymore, Aaron,” he whispered, leaning forward, voice dropping into a low, delectable whisper “Not now that I find you so interesting,”

“Are you going to try and arrest me? If you ever find evidence for what you perceive me to be?”

“The easy way to avoid that,” Spencer shrugged, taking another bite of meat, chewing easily “Is to never let me find any of this supposed evidence.”

“You won’t find any, as it doesn’t exist, Spencer,”

“No lies, Aaron,” Spencer reminded, waving his fork slightly in the air with a delicate wrist “I can’t abide lies.”

“I apologise. You won’t find any evidence, Spencer. And now, return the favour,” he poured a little bit spice onto his fish, absentmindedly “Why have you really resumed therapy? Why did you come here tonight?”

Spencer chuckled “I can’t talk to any old psychiatrist about the stuff banging around in my head. And I came tonight because…you’re just such a good cook. No one makes meat like you do, you must give me the name of your Butcher.”

Aaron fought back a smile “Do you have your gun with you tonight, Spencer?”

“No.”

Ah. How easy would it be to get rid of him right now? But Aaron could never do that, and Spencer must have known. Spencer was Aaron’s work in progress, in what would turn out to be the finest artwork in the history of mankind. The creator could never destroy his masterpiece, even if it wasn’t quite finished yet. Aaron still hadn’t gotten Spencer to kill for the sake of killing. “That shows a remarkable level of trust in me.”

“Trust in you?” Spencer shook his head with a frown “No, Doctor, no. I trusted you once. Maybe even half loved you once, you were my only friend and light in a world of darkness,” he cut into the steak, revealing a well done, but slightly pink, beautiful inside, that sizzled and crisped when exposed to the air, and gave a satisfying crunch against his teeth. “But you betrayed that trust. And you’ll have to earn it back, piece," he cut at the steak "by piece.”

Now that hurt Aaron more than he’d cared to admit. But he nodded. “I will strive to earn it back, Spencer. You feel like I have failed you, and that was never my intention, believe me.” Spencer nodded, as though to say ‘I do believe you’. “Things just got complicated. You were a lot smarter than I ever gave you credit for. It was a surprise. You must forgive me for how I act on surprises. No matter how wonderful they are.”

“Maybe you’d be more open to surprises if you didn’t plan everything out as meticulously as you did. Allow for some lee-way, it may be beneficial.”

“For you, Spencer? I just might.” They met each others eyes in a beautiful moment of plain understanding. There was still disgust, half hidden behind Spencer’s lidded eyes, disgust and pain from the betrayal and the discovery, but the fact that Spencer, on some level at least, did in fact care about Aaron, seemed to block that out. “Here, after this, I have some dessert.”

“No meat?” Spencer had eaten his fill of human for the day.

Aaron seemed to understand. “No meat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys- your comments. 
> 
>  
> 
> I. Love. You.


	7. The Silence(r)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was his true sanity. He was gone. 
> 
> Left in its place is a much more beautiful, much darker, fractured being, who knows only pleasure, and can feel only love given to him by Aaron Hotchner.
> 
> The Butterfly.

Spencer frowned at the knock on his door, and whistled for Truth to get up with him, just in case, but when he opened it, standing out there in the cold winter morning, was Nathan Harris. “Nathan?!” he exclaimed “W-what are you doing here?”

“I’m out,” he grinned “I just have to see a therapist every week, his name’s Trevor, I’m free Spence,” he was beaming, not bothered about the harsh winds blowing all around him “I’m free! We’re free!” And he leapt forward, engulfing Spencer in a tight hug, the agent laughed, and opened his door, gesturing for Nathan to come in. And within the hour, the guest bedroom was all set up, the fire was going, and Spencer and Nathan were sharing a pizza as the four dogs climbed all over Nathan, trying to get to know him. “It was so lonely without you,” Nathan whispered, shaking his head “They got this dude to replace your cell, but he couldn’t speak. Was known at the silencer. I think he was trying to teach me sign language, but I never got it.” 

“The Silencer?” Spencer frowns “Huh, I think I read about a case like that, where he stitched his victims mouth shut.”

“Huh.” Nathan took a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully “Well now the nickname makes a lot more sense. For a while, I thought it was a Doctor Who reference to the Silence,” And Spencer burst out laughing at that, and Nathan joined him and a few moments later, they had almost collapsed with laughter, delirious laughter at their mirrored situations, they were both free, they were both seeing therapists, they were re-united. Nathan was Spencer’s new sanity, and he wasn’t going to let him go. 

It stuck Spencer much later that night, that he and Nathan had laughed for nearly 15 minutes about a murderer. A murderer. They had laughed about a murderer, they had laughed about the victims. Now, Nathan had an excuse for that, he was clinically borderline insane, but what was Spencer’s excuse? He looked up at the ceiling in the dark, Prometheus and Icarus in his room, while Truth and Zeus were with Nathan. He stroked their sleeping bodies tiredly, his whole life seemed to revolve around murderers. He spent every day trying to catch them, had spent his school life learning about them, his therapist was a murderer, he himself had taken a life, he was a murderer. His best friend Nathan was a murderer. Hell, what kind of life was he living?

And what was wrong with him? He wondered, as he realised he was still smiling. 

“Ha,” he chuckled to himself, settling into sleep “The Silence.”

…  
…  
…

“And so Nathan is currently living with you?” Hotch asked, they were in the therapy room, and Hotch had slid a container over the table top, food, a mixed salad with some ‘bacon’, and apricot. Spencer thought it was an odd mix, but it tasted like summer and sunshine on his tongue, so he wasn’t going to argue. He took a few large bites, chewing and nodding. 

“Yeah, it’s great actually, I mean, I normally prefer the dogs, but having Nathan there…it sounds crazy, but it’s actually reassuring.”

Hotch arched a delicate eyebrow, watching Spencer eat “Why does it sound crazy?”

“Because…he’s crazy.”

Aaron laughed “Spencer, I think you must have realised by now that we’re all a little mad here.” Aaron minds immediately flew to Alice in Wonderland, but he then shook his head. This was no children's fantasy, this was a horror story, this was nightmares that the mad had, and the cherry on the cake, was that Aaron actually enjoyed it. And soon, Spencer would too. 

Spencer looked up from his food, dragging the fork, unintentionally seductively across his bottom lip as he swallowed, hair tumbling into his eyes. “Some more than others, I guess. Right, Doctor Hotchner?” Aaron bit back a smile, but he nodded, indulging his creation. Spencer stabbed at a piece of yellow fruit, and then at some meat “Nathan knows about you, you know,”

“I guessed as much.”

“Does that not bother you?”

“Normally, it would bother me.” Aaron took a sip of water, leaning back in the armchair and observing Spencer. “But with you…I find it very difficult to take away something you love.”

Spencer response was quirk off the tongue, and it that wasn't another thing Hotch loved about him. “Funny. You took away JJ and my freedom, but I guess ah…that was all part of the unexpected response, right? You do so hate surprises.” Aaron said nothing, waiting for Spencer to calm down, which he did, impressively quickly “Anyway, thank you. Nathan is…he’s accepted what he is. He knows that he likes to carve words into women, he’s accepted it, but that doesn’t mean he stops trying. He never stops trying to fight it. In the prison, he always took advice from everyone, anything that could help. He once wrote a poem, about death from a dying woman’s point of view, I read it.” He smiled slightly “It was no Robert Browning, but it was still good,”

“How did she die?”

“Surprisingly, it was cancer.” Hotch looked surprised too, and Spencer nodded “I know, right? Like, I assumed it would be something similar to murder, blood loss.” He tipped his head “The imagination know no bounds.” 

“That it does not.” Hotch whispered “That it does not.”

…  
…  
…

When Spencer got home, Nathan was gone. 

The dogs were barking loudly, worriedly, and Spencer ran into the bedroom, and there was blood on the floor. He froze, panicking, and pulled out his phone, thinking for a second he was going to call Morgan, but he ended up dialling Hotch’s number. He can’t remember what he said, but he was literally screaming, and crying, and Aaron, always ever calm, told him to stay where he was, and that he would be coming. Spencer picked up his gun while he waited, loading it full with bullets, and then sliding a spare case into his pocket, he tucked the gun into his jeans, and paced furiously, nearly pulling his hair out and ignoring his dogs. 

He ran outside when he heard the car pull out, and before he knew what he was doing, he was propelling himself into Hotch’s arm, burying his face in the soft black coat. Hotch was surprised by the action, but forced himself not to show it, instead, hugged Spencer back. “I don’t know what to do,” he wept “He’s not here, he-he’s not h-here,” he was hiccupping, and Aaron soothed him

“Do we know who would take him?” He asked smoothly, but Spencer just cried harder and shook his head “Did he talk about anyone? Anyone at all?”

“Only his psychiatrist. Some guy named Trevor, he was meant to see him for two weeks, it’s the only person he spoke about out of prison,”

“Trevor Midson?” Hotch frowned “I know him, he owns a farm a few miles from here, let’s go,” and he slid into the car, Spencer sliding into the passenger seat. As they drove, Aaron admired Spencer for a moment. The young man didn’t trust him yet, as he did before, and maybe he never would, but Hotch was still the first person he called. The only person who he would ever tell about something like this. It made something dark and warm flutter inside him. Hotch didn't like the thought of Trevor Midson, the man was a murderer, much like Hotchner, but Trevor's murders had never been art. They had always just been messy and plain sadistic. He didn't tell Spencer that though.

When they got to the barn, Spencer leapt out of the car, and ran inside, and Aaron walked more calmly, and when he got in, he blinked, slightly baffled at the sight. Spencer was leaning over a young man, who Hotch recognised as Nathan, the pale boys throat had been cut badly, and Spencer was pulling off his tie, to yank around it and stop the bleeding, “Nathan!” Spencer wept “Oh my god, Nathan, Nathan, listen to me!”

“S-spence,” Nathan gargled, as Spencer pressed his hands into the wound “H-hurts, i-it hurts-“

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Spencer whispered, hauling off his jacket, tears streaking down his face as he leaned over “I’m here, I’m gonna protect you, you’re gonna be okay.”

Hotch frowned, turning away, and wandered through the barn, before coming to another barn, attached by a long corridor, he walked down it leisurely, admiring the horses, before coming to a large pile of hay, where he saw Trevor Milton, unconscious. Hotch’s lips quirked into a grin, well, Nathan had gotten in a few good punches of his own then. There’s a hammer discarded beside Trevor, and Hotch wonders to a horse, and feeds it half an apple he finds on the side. 

A lot of things happen at once. The horse finishes the apple, and the munching, crunching sounds stop. Nathan’s gargles, and Spencer’s desperate cries for help, stop, and everything falls into silence. Hotch closes his eyes briefly, sadness flickering over his face. Nathan’s gone. He feels bad for Spencer, he never wanted anything to hurt him. And then in the silence, Hotch hears something else, the groaning of a man regaining consciousness. 

Hotch stared as Trevor regained consciousness, he watched the tall, large brunette with slicked back hair. Covered in blood, he picks up a hammer, whirling around, and freezing when he sees Hotch. Hotch, who looks the perfect image of perfection. Hair brushed forward neatly, in a black winter coat that fashionably reaches his knees. Hotch smiles, baring too many teeth “If I were you, Trevor, I’d fall unconscious again,” And Hotch steps to the side, revealing Spencer, who has his gun raised, eyes trained on Trevor.

Trevor breathes a sigh of relief, chuckling, shoulders sagging and he happily drops the hammer “Spencer,” he grins “Agent, thank god you’re here,” Trevor frowns then, at the barrel of a gun still pointed at him, and he shoots a glance at Aaron, who just stares back listlessly, he turns back to Spencer “Agent, I’m a victim.”

“I’m not here as an Agent,” Spencer whispered, and Hotch raked his eyes over him. He had given his coat, to lay over the now dead Nathan, his lilac shirt is untucked from his trousers, and his waistcoat undone. His tie is gone too, wrapped tight around Nathan’s neck, but it had been too late. Hotch can see his collar bone, and thinks, how wonderfully casual Spencer looks now. There’s a few drops of blood on his forehead, from where he hugged Nathan, but other than that… “I’m here as Nathan’s friend.”

Trevor swallows thickly, turning pleadingly to look at Hotch for help, a fellow psychiatrist, surely… “Nathan’s confused.”

Spencer’s face twists, and his eyes go black, but not pure black, not the minds of every serial killer he’s ever known, it goes a dark, purple black, the serial killer that is Spencer Reid. His face tilts into an expression of clarity. And he whispers, lowly, darkly “...I’m not.” Aaron’s eyes widen at that. Spencer shouldn’t be ready. He’s almost there, but not quite…this is…this is wonderful. But it doesn’t fit into his plans. It’s enchanting and delightful that Spencer’s finally mixed the two parts of his mind together, but Hotch hasn’t prepared for this. He glances at Trevor, and decides to save his life. But before he can cut in, Spencer steps forward gun positioned “Pick up the hammer.”

Trevor’s face goes tense with terror, and he shakes his head, crying

Spencer doesn’t seem to have patience for tears, and he steps forward again, a few metres away, both hands on the gun now. “Pick. It. Up.” He hisses.

Hotch interjects “It won’t feel the same, Spencer,” he whispers, and this is quite exciting, because this is the first time he’s talking to the new, improved Spencer Reid. This is it. This is his product, and it is beautiful. “It won’t feel like killing me.”

“Please don’t kill me!” Trevor sobs, and Hotch rolls his eyes

“Trevor, it would be wise for you to remain silent,” he turns back to Spencer, undisturbed “That’s what you dream about right? Killing me? Well, the first time this you, the new you, kills, it has to be for you. Not for Nathan. You’ve done everything for Nathan.” His breath fans onto Spencer’s heated jaw “You promised me something much worse, remember? Well, this isn’t it.” And that should be that. Except.

“Doesn’t matter.” Spencer whispers after a pause, and he pulls the trigger, once, twice, three, four- on and on, till way past 13, when Aaron stops counting. And Trevor is a bloodied mess on the floor. And when he runs out of bullets, Spencer reloads it with a spare set Hotch didn't know he was carrying, and he fires every round from there too. Spencer’s frozen to the spot, and keeps clicking the now empty gun, uselessly. Aaron slips it from his fingers wipes it of fingerprints and throws it near Nathan. The story will be that they got into a fight. As Nathan lay for dead, he managed to get hold of the gun, kill Trevor. The psychiatrist that abused him. An eye for an eye. 

Aaron understands then. Why Spencer blossomed early, Nathan Harris had been the last of his humanity, the last of the goodness. Nathan Harris had been Spencer’s sanity, and Nathan Harris was gone. 

“Oh, Spencer,” Aaron whispers, as a caress, and he cups Spencer’s face with his hand, thumb resting on his ear and jaw, fingers tangled in his hair, as he appraises this new creature. “For all my work, I could never entirely predict you,” his voice is full of love, and Spencer meets his eyes, confused, but content, his finger is still twitching as though it’s pulling the trigger, and Hotch chuckles “I mean, I can feed the caterpillar, I can…I can whisper through the crystalline cocoon, but the butterfly,” he strokes his thumb over Spencer’s cheek, proud “A work of art.”

Spencer whimpers, uncertain, and Hotch kisses his forehead other hand trailing down to cup Spencer through his jeans, and Aaron’s smile was so blissful, so proud. Spencer was hard, leaking, he whimpered when Hotch touched him. 

“Come on, Spencer,” he whispered, drawing away “We have to go.”

And the new Spencer follows him.

The horse whines from the stable, but its neighs fall on dead ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three comments, and the next chapter is yours! 
> 
> Smut is coming by the way guys, thanks for holding out :)  
> x
> 
> I felt bad about killing Nathan :( I liked him.


	8. We're Even Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch knows he deserves this, and if anything, after the sadness has passed, he loves Spencer even more for it.

“Okay,” Hotch whispers, he’s lying on his stomach in the grass, gun positioned, and lying beside him, is Spencer, their sides pressed up together, as Spencer looks through the aimer of his own gun. “Now, when hunting, especially Alpha males like him, you always have to look out for family. How old does he look to you?”

Spencer frowned, peering at the man through the long glass, “About…30 years old,”

“Good, now listen, what can you hear? Children laughing nearby? Can you hear a wife? Friends? Hikers?”

Spencer listens hard, trying to please Aaron the same way that when he was younger, he use to try and please his teachers. “No…I hear…the sound of the stream, I hear…” he closes his eyes to listen “I hear crickets and birds, and I hear footsteps, he’s walking towards a tree with a bird song.”

Aaron radiates pride “Now, when you go for the shot, this is your first proper hunt, are you gonna go for a kill shot? Or a bleed out?”

“Neither,” Spencer whispers, aiming, finger on the trigger “I’m gonna shoot at his legs so he can’t run away, and finish him off myself.” Aaron nods, smiling, and gesturing for Spencer to do so. 

Spencer fires.

His first shot misses and ricochets off into the distance, Hotch tells him not to worry, and to take aim again, so the lanky genius does, and this time, the 30 something year old man falls. Spencer’s up then, running like a predator through the grass, and he’s straddling the man, hands tight around his neck, Hotch walks towards them more slowly, giving Spencer a moment with his kill, and when Spencer climbs off him, he’s soaked with blood, and painfully hard, shivering with the remnants of power. 

Hotch smiles, “My poor boy,” he whispers, kissing Spencer harshly, his lips taste of blood and copper, but beneath that is something indescribably Spencer. Spencer kisses back with just as much force, just as much passion, as they both tear their trousers off, and Hotch is positioning himself, cursing when he realises they don’t have any lube. But Spencer’s thinking again, and he’s pressing Hotch’s fingers into the blood from the dead body beside them, that’s still warm in the late afternoon forestry. Aaron shakes his head in wonder and disbelief as he kisses Spencer again “What did I do to get someone like you?” he whispers in awe, and thrusts in.

Spencer howls, head tilting back, hips shaking in pleasure, eyes closed, long grass soft on his thighs, and Hotch starts thrusting as though it were all he were capable off. “Harder! Harder! Oh- God!” Spencer lets out a loud whimper, mewling in pleasure “Right there! Oh! Please!”

“You’re daddy’s little boy aren’t you Spencer?” He whispers to his creation, as he starts pumping Spencer loosely, the agent cries out in agonised pleasure.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” He sobs deliriously “Y-your good little boy!”

“Whose good little boy?” he groans

“Daddy! You, daddy! Please!” his hands scrabble to clutch at Hotch’s jacket, to pull him impossibly closer, and it works, Hotch spills deep inside him, and jerks Spencer off furiously, watching at the man below him falls into pieces, crying out his name and his love for daddy in the red sunshine.

…  
…  
…

It was purely by chance, that he found her.

Spencer had been driving, a long way from home, and had just disposed of the body of the man they had killed, when he saw her. The woman, with black hair and pale skin. The woman he remembered…maybe he remembered, in flashes, pieces of a memories came floating back to him and he remembered her from a time when Aaron had been drugging him. This woman…he had taken her to Hotch’s house one night, Hotch had told him she wasn’t there. She was a murderer. Spencer gripped his head, thinking. Emily. Emily. She had called him handsome. 

Spencer jumped out of the car and ambushed her before she even realised what was happening, and then he was stuffing her into the backseat, and driving, full speed to Aaron’s house. 

His therapist/lover/serial killer cannibalistic partner wasn't there when he got home, so he strapped Emily to the dining room table, the same place he strapped her as last time, and he shook his head in amazement. Emily looked up at him, a smile graced her pretty face. “Well hello again, handsome, Aaron’s told me all about you,” she's like her brother in that way, reacts calmly and coolly under pressure. Probably a survival instinct.

Spencer sat opposite her, leaning in, pulling a knife that he’s swiped from Aaron’s kitchen. It was a large one- he didn’t know the technical name, Hotch probably would, but he didn’t. “You’re his sister?” he grinned, rocking forward then backwards happily “You look like him. Same hair. Same eyes.”

“Has he moulded you, yet?” Emily asked, fidgeting in her bindings, only to find that she was truly trapped. She's worrying a little now, because this Spencer Reid seems a lot more calm and composed than the last one she met. The last one was a crying wreck, who though brilliant, would never truly harm her because he was so dependent. But this Spencer...his eyes seemed darker, he was put together, completely independent and still brilliant. She had no control over this situation. “Are you the perfect little cannibalistic serial lover he’s always dreamed of?” Spencer laughed at the teasing tone of her voice, and pressed the knife threateningly against the skin of her throat. She stopped laughing. “Alright, let’s think ab-“ The dining room door opened, and Hotch stepped in, and froze.

He set down his briefcase, as Spencer stood up and went behind Emily, knife still to her throat. 

“Spencer,” Aaron’s voice breaks, he holds his hands up, desperate “Please don’t do this.” Spencer just stares at him, hints of a smile on his face “Please…Emily’s my sister, she’s family, she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a normal relationship, please, do not do this,” 

“Remember when I didn’t kill you that night, Aaron? Remember when I said I’d do something much worse?” He grins, a dirty smirk “This is worse, right? Am I doing it right?” And even through his darkness and his cruelty, he needs approval. Spencer dragged the knife lightly over Emily’s neck and she whimpers, Hotch is torn between being proud, and seeing his sister being killed. “Come on, Aaron,” he whines, dragging out the syllables “Tell me it’s worse!” he bounces on the balls of his feet “If you tell me it isn’t worse, I’ll let her go! I just want you to be proud of me!” Aaron makes a cry of despair, and he knows that he's done this. He's so incredibly torn, and Spencer's standing there looking as sexy as sin, and asking him if he's doing it right, and god dammit, he is!

Aaron can’t say anything. And quick as a flash Spencer slits her throat. Aaron makes a weak noise of sadness as Emily's blood pools on the marble floor. 

Reid makes a sound of relief, shoulders slumping happily as he closes Emily’s eyes “I had to do it, Aaron." He whispers, "I don’t have anyone, not even Nathan, you can’t have anyone else either. This is payback, for everything you’ve done for me. You understand that right? You forgive me?” His voice wavers slightly, and he suddenly looks up, terror-stricken "You do forgive me, right?"

Aaron sits down heavily, one solitary tear falling as he looks at his sister "I deserved this."

"I knew, you knew," Spencer said softly "I knew you knew that Trevor Milton was a murderer, I knew you knew he'd murder Nathan, and I gave you a chance to stop it, and to tell me, but you didn't." He steps away "I only ever wanted for us to be equal,"

 

“Are we equal now?” He whispers, Spencer nods, and Hotch wipes his tears, he draws in a deep, ragged breath "She never got married," Aaron whispered, looking at the corpse, "It's the only thing she ever wanted."

Spencer presses his lips together, before gripping Hotch's hands in his own "Let's go to bed," he says softly, and Aaron swallows and lets Spencer lead him upstairs.

In the morning, his feelings of sadness about losing a family member are gone, he's quick to recover like that. He takes lives every week, and even though Emily was blood related, he knows that she's part of an old life. His life is with Spencer now. But in this moment, on that night, he mourns her, crying into Spencer's shirt, and the younger one lets him, because he can be the rock for one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's also weird, is that they'll be eating Emily in the next chapter. Like...weird. 
> 
> It's even weirder that I find it weird, and I'm writing it. 
> 
> I tried not to make this too gruesome, but if any of you do have trouble sleeping, think of glitter and pompoms and a cake made of a thousand smaller chocolate cakes like the side of your bottle lid.


	9. Everybody Makes Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And maybe Hotch has to accept, he's not a great breeder of butterflies, this was his one, and only attempt. 
> 
> And it failed.

"Spencer," Derek crosses one leg over the other, and Spencer swallows, sitting opposite him, eyes downcast submissively, because when he's not with Hotch, he's still the meek empath who works for the FBI. "Enough is enough. We know. Me, Elle, the rest of the Bureau. We know what you are. We know what you've done." Spencer doesn't react to the damning words. Because this could be a ploy. "We took a sample of food from Hotch's dinner party last night. The meat matches that of Emily Prentiss. Remember her? The one you let...'slip through your fingers', Spence?"

Spencer looks up, and he smirks ever so slightly, and Derek's intake of breath is sharp.

"Christ Spencer," he hisses, shaking his head, clasping his fingers behind his neck "I was right to lock you away."

"Technically, when you locked me away I was an innocent man." He points out unhelpfully, and Morgan stares at him in disgust, and a heady mix of pity which must be churning his brain. 

"High school..." he whispers "I've known you since high school, you weren't always...this," he motions to Spencer tiredly with one hand, and now Spencer's curious, because they know Spencer's killed someone, they have evidence, and a pretty good reason to bring him and Hotch in, but they're not. Derek's just sitting there looking disappointed and tired. "He made you into this, Spencer. And I know it's probably not wise, but...I care about you, alright," he leans forward, crossing his arms, and Spencer's still a guy who was bullied severely as a child, and to hear someone say that, he can't help the flush rush up his cheeks. Derek smiles at the sight of it "Right there," he whispers, reaching across and brushing Spencer's hair out of his face, a stray strand. "See? There's a little bit of the Spencer that I used to know. So I'm offering a deal. Full immunity"

Spencer blanches. "Full immunity?!"

Derek nods seriously "Despite the murders, full immunity. All you have to do is help bring Aaron down. He's worth way more than you. Killed thousands of people. We're not asking for you to wear a wire, just for you to lead him someplace where we can ambush him. It's too risky any other way, he's too smart. If we play it right, he won't even have to know you betrayed him. Do we have a deal?"

Betrayed him. 

Spencer doesn't like how that sounds. But then thinking about it, didn't Hotch betray him? Nathan was dead because of it. "We have a deal."

Derek smiles, "You're doing the right thing, Spence."

Spencer knows he's right. 

But he doesn't like it. 

...  
...  
...

Hotch finds out. 

It's rather unfortunate really, that he has video cameras covering every inch of the FBI. He hears everything. Sees everything, and the betrayal burns bright through his blood. And that evening, while he and Spencer eat the remainder of Emily, sipping red wine, Hotch thinks, he can forgive Spencer. He will forgive Spencer, if the kid confesses. "You know," Hotch beings, swallowing the tender meat, after dragging it through sherry "I have tickets for Paris. We should leave right now, tonight." He watches Spencer carefully.

The kid smiles at him through unruly brown hair "That's a good idea," he nods, and sips his wine "But..." Hotch sighs inwardly. He's offering Spencer a way out, he urges for him to take it. He doesn't. "I just want to revel in this for a few more days. About how much smarter than them we are." 

"Are you sure?" Hotch asks, and his heart hurts, because- hell, he loves Spencer. He wouldn't offer anyone else this chance, but here he is, offering it to Spencer. "We'll be safe. Together. No one could touch us." 

Spencer quirked a smile "You sound scared, Aaron?" he cut into his meat "Don't tell me all of this is finally catching up on you?"

Diverting the subject. Spencer isn't going to take the way out. Aaron sighs "Something's catching up to me," he murmured "Not quite sure how to deal with it yet."

...  
...  
...

Spencer Reid, has a plan. 

He runs into Hotch's house, using the key he's been given, and he's bounding with happiness. He knows how they're going to defeat Derek! "Hotch?" Spencer calls, he checks his watch, Morgan's coming soon, he's gonna tell Hotch everything, and the two of them are gonna kill the ebony agent, and then they'll run to Paris. He's got it all figured out! It took ages to convince Derek to come alone, but if there's anything Hotch has taught Spencer, it's the art of persuasion. Spencer jobs upstairs, and pauses when he sees Hotch sitting on the bed, looking at two chairs that he's placed side by side in front of the fireplace. "Hotch?" Spencer frowns, breathless "Everything alright?"

Hotch stands, and looks unexplainably sad, and then something's been hurled at Spencer's head, and everything's black.

It's black for a long time. 

Because when he wakes up, vision still a little blurry in the corners, he's tied to one of the chairs, fire crackling behind him, creating an unpleasant head on his hands. Hotch is standing in front of him, there's blood on his shirt. Spencer looks around, and there, on the chair beside him, is Morgan. Still unconscious. Oh god- this is a terrible mistake- "Hotch!" Spencer hisses, pulling at his restraints "Stop! You don't know what you're doing-"

"Don't I?" Hotch whispers, and there are tears on his cheeks, he shakes his head "You betrayed me. I would have given you anything, Spencer. Anything." His voice chokes, and he picks up a bloodied knife, and stands beside Derek. He slits his throat quickly, effectively, and Spencer's splattered with a splash of blood. He recoils, and then Hotch is kneeling in front of him. 

"Hotch- wait- listen-"

"Shhh," Hotch whispers, shaking his head, one hand going to Spencer's neck reassuringly "Shhh, it's okay. No more talking. No more talking now, okay?" Spencer whimpers, but presses his lips together, and is crying openly when Hotch unbuttons his shirt slowly, and then trails the knife lightly over Spencer's torso. Hotch feels a burning, a ringing in his ears. He had been so sure. So sure Spencer was perfect. He had made him. This creature, Hotch had made him! But that didn't mean control. After all, could God control all of the animals? If he could, he was certainly playing a very messy game. 

Hotch plunged the knife between two of Spencer's ribs, and the younger one howled in pain, back arching, head thrown back exposing that lovely neck, that not 48 hours before, Hotch had nuzzled, and kissed. And revealed his love too. Spencer's breathing sharply through his teeth, trying not to scream. Hotch knows he should slit this boys throat. But...he can't. He just can't. Spencer's crying, and whispering his name like a fevered prayer. So instead, Hotch finds a major artery in Spencer's thigh, and with one swift downward motion, thrusts the knife in, looking Spencer in the eye, as he then pulled it out. It wasn't overly painful, not like Spencer deserved, but he would bleed out. Lose consciousness first. It wouldn't hurt. Hotch dropped the knife, going around the bed to pick up his suitcase. 

"Aaron," Spencer chokes out, totally slumped in the chair, oddly enough, the bindings seem to loosen now that he doesn't need them. "Take me with you," 

Christ. What Aaron would have given to hear that the other night. 

"Please," Spencer sobs, bloods pouring from his torso, spilling onto his jeans, which offer no protection as the blood trails down the inside of his leg uncomfortably, pooling by his feet to join Derek Morgan's. "I made a mistake. Come on please- I'm your boyfriend- your butterfly," his voice chokes "But I'm new at this! I m-made," he coughs violently, and blood sprays Aaron's floor "-a mistake. We make mistakes. I need you, please-" he whimpers "I need you." 

It takes every ounce of strength Hotch has. Every muscle in his body. Every lesson that he's been taught in his life. It's the hardest thing he's ever done in his whole life. But he turns, and he leaves. And he's on a plane to Paris, accepting champagne from the stewardess in first class. And Hotch looks out of the window, trying to see where his house is as the plane rises, tries to see the police cars and FBI agents that will be swarming it. He thinks about Elle. What will she think when she sees it? 

But he can't find his house. He can't see the inevitable flashing red and blue lights, as he soars into the clouds, his view is obstructed, and he sips his champagne, wondering where the hell he went wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will have a happy ending Hotch/Spencer wise.
> 
> I mean...basically everyone else dies. 
> 
> So. 
> 
> Is that happy?
> 
> I think so.


	10. Disbelief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butterflies tend not to fly back to their family. 
> 
> But tendency is a funny thing.

He gets sloppy. 

Aaron Hotchner gets sloppy, and he's never been sloppy before in his whole life, but he has. Because he's lost Spencer and he's making mistakes. One night, when he breaks into the house of a young black woman, he simply forgets to double check that she is alone. And when he sneaks into her bedroom, to see her snoring softly on her bed, like she should be, someone behind him knocks him hard on the back of the head, with a frying pan. 

When he wakes up, which only seems to be about 15 minutes later, he's tied to a kitchen chair, and two women with ebony skin are looking at him, one is petrified, the one that Aaron had planned to kill, the one who was sleeping. That's why he chose her. He'd seen her jump when a passer by had tapped her elbow to get the time. Aaron knew he had to have her. Scared meat always had a more bitter taste, and he was in the mood for something sour. 

"Wait a minute, Sarah...I recognise him..." one of them whispered, and that made Aaron shift uncomfortably. Bad enough to be someone who broke into houses, worse if they found out he was a cannibalistic serial killer on the run, with the entire country looking for him after his heinous acts were made public. Even in Paris, he had to keep his head down. "It's him, Des," she whispered in shock, one hand covering her mouth "He murdered our Derek."

Oh Shit. 

Well, if there is a God, this is definitely his way of punishing Aaron for everything he's ever done. He see's it now, the resemblance. The two sisters, Desiree and Sarah, they look just like Derek, same eyes, same strong jawline. He wants to open his mouth and say something, but nothing fits. In a few seconds, Sarah is sobbing and cursing Aaron and Desiree is phoning the police and...

this is how it ends.

Tied to a kitchen, in some small apartment in the middle of Paris, where the sisters of someone he killed had gone to, to recover from the loss of their brother. This is how it ends, with one sister yelling into the phone, and another crying her heart out. This is how it ends, he can hear the thudding of a helicopter, the sirens of police cars, general exclamation outside, and he thinks to himself;

This can't be how it ends. 

...  
...   
...

 

Spencer Reid hears the steady beating of a heart monitor. 

He cracks open his eyes, and there by his bedside is Elle, she stands as soon as he sees her and takes his hand in between hers "Oh Spencer," she whispered, caramel hair falling into her face "Shhh, shh, everything's okay." He runs her fingers through his tumbling brown locks "Okay," she's using her most soothing, beautifully Spanish voice "We got there just in time, closed up the bleed. We realised we were wrong, Hotchner was manipulating you this whole time, we're so sorry. You're completely innocent. We're so, so sorry," 

Spencer makes a small whining sound, and Elle hands him some water, he sips it gratefully, "How long have I been...out?" he murmurs, checking everything, he can move his legs and his arms, and he feels...surprisingly fine. 

"A couple of weeks," Elle admitted "But no brain damage. Derek was dead before we got there, but...you knew that already. It was painless, don't worry. We already held the funeral, we...we couldn't wait. We weren't sure if you were gonna wake up. Spence, you've gotten so thin, it's gonna be hard for you to eat for a while, you've been getting everything through IV. We caught Hotchner a couple of days ago. He admitted to everything. He's in a prison down in New Orleans, he's got the life sentence, they've banned the death penalty over there, though that's what he deserves." She's gushing, desperate to fill him in on all the lost time. It's obvious that she's missed him, that she feels guilty, and if Spencer inhales enough, he can smell his dogs on her. She's a saint. She's been looking after them. He's tempted to ask if anymore strays have come along, but there's something a little more disturbing about the information she's given him. 

"He got...caught?" Spencer couldn't breathe. Elle nodded, beaming

"Isn't that great?"

...  
...  
...

Hotch trailed his fingers across the wall, 2 months he had been here, two months in a life sentence in a maximum security prison with guards that had a southern accent that was slowly making him sick. He'd lost everything. He'd lost his sister, his job, his life. But more importantly, he'd lost Spencer. Spencer, god the name made him twist on his bed, as he tried to dig his nails into the concrete walls. 

“Hello, Doctor Hotchner,” a smooth voice rings out, and Aaron looks up sharply, to see Spencer, his Spencer, standing there, a grin on his pink lips. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Aaron can't see anything for a second, and he wonders if he's lost his mind. But Spencer's standing there, eyes glittering “What are you doing in here?” He asks teasingly, and Aaron stands, his orange jumpsuit stands out against the grey of his cell. He moves slowly, like anything might disturb this beautiful mirage. 

“Why are you wearing a guards uniform?” He asks instead. Instead of all the other things, like…like the marvel it is that Spencer’s alive. He’s alive. His butterfly…the thing he poured hard work and love into is alive. And he's standing right there. He's not dead and bleeding and covered with dirt. 

He shrugs “So the prisoners don’t leer at me,” 

Hotch can appreciate that. Even now, it’s hard not to leer. But Hotch is polite, he never leers, he only ever admires. “You look well.”

“That’s funny,” Spencer whispers, “I don’t feel well.”

Almost slipping back into an ancient routine, Hotch finds himself asking “How do you feel?”

Spencer’s lip quirks in amusement at that, and he trails his finger along the bars “I feel…” he lets out a huff of air “Betrayed. Angry.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Spencer’s eyes snap to his, that permanent shade of purple-black “Because my serial killer boyfriend stabbed me in his kitchen, and left me there to die.” He growls, and for a moment, Aaron can’t even believe that Spencer’s the one who’s angry. He should be angry! He’s the one who got betrayed! But he's in a heavy state of shock, because that's Spencer...that's Spencer in a guards uniform standing outside his cell “I’m angry because,” his voice dropped “You didn’t even let me explain.”

“Let you explain?! Explain what, Spencer?! That you planned on handing me into the FBI? That you had teamed up with Derek Morgan behind my back and played me this whole time?”

“No.” Spencer’s eyes water slightly, and his voice breaks “You were meant to let me explain at dinner the night before. But you kicked me out, remember that? The next thing I know, I’m being tied up with Derek Morgan, when it was my plan-“ he’s screaming now, and it’s a wonder the other prisoners aren’t saying anything. They’re probably used to this by now “-It was my plan, to ambush him with you! I knew he would come alone! I was gonna be right by your side! Instead, I was on the receiving end of a knife!”

Aaron can only stare. Spencer had- holy shit. Of course. Of course, he should have known. Spencer would never have betrayed him. Not Spencer. Not his Spencer. But it had been…too good to be true. Everything had been too perfect, and surely, people like him couldn’t have happy endings… “I’m sorry,” he whispers brokenly “Oh god…” and he remembers how close he was to slitting Spencer’s throat in that moment, he wonders how close the young man before him was to death. 

“It’s alright,” Spencer’s smiling again, as though an apology was all he wanted “Anyway, not why I’m here.” He looks around, grinning at the irony “I remember when it was you on the other side of the bars.” Aaron’s lips quirk slightly at the memory, but back then he had been anything but amused. “I’m here to tell you,” he leans his face against the bars “To watch this,” He picks up a duffel bag, full of guns, and he throws them across the floor, in front of all of the cells, and other prisoners in the block look up with interest. Weapons. Spencer heads to the wall, and presses a button, and all the prison cells open. And all the murderers are free. 

Aaron steps out, and watches the others scrabble for guns, and bullets, and watches as they rush to the door, a few shots going off before they’re even out of the room. Spencer holds the bag out, and Aaron takes it, peering inside, he has to smile. It’s a suit. His size. He slips it on quietly, doing up the tie, and then Spencer hands him a razor, and he shaves using the prison sink, they can hear the yelling, and the shots and the dying outside, but for them, the sound of the water running from a cloggy tap is far more interesting. Once Hotch is clean shaven, Spencer holds his hand out, and their fingers twine. They head for the back entrance, and Aaron arches an eyebrow at the two dead guards.

“I snapped their necks,” Spencer shrugs “Took me a while to get the hang of it,”

“You’ve been practising?”

Spencer kisses Hotch, full on the mouth, tongues tangling and teeth nipping “I wanted to impress you.”

Aaron can only pant breathlessly. “Mission accomplishment, butterfly.” They get into a car that Spencer has waiting, and Aaron, usually so refined and controlled, can't keep his hands off this living ghost, his hands are pulling off Spencer's clothes, and his leaking member is thrusting deep inside the only thing he's ever loved in his whole life. "I knew you'd come back," Aaron whispers, and for one of the first time in his life, hot tears fall from his eyes that he wipes into Spencer's hair "I knew." Spencer pants breathlessly into his ear, unable to speak "I knew. I knew because I hoped, and I couldn't hope before but-" he chokes on air, drawing in a shaky breath "You taught me how to hope," he whispers "You taught me how to hope."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah...sorry it's been a while, this chapter took me ages :)  
> x


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two butterflies haloed by the evening sun, to never get caught in webs, because their wings can slice through skin, and their minds can slice through hearts.

Elle relocates to Mexico. Terrified out of her mind, but somewhere deep inside her, she knows they won't come for the only remaining member of the BA unit, she knows that. She knows that Spencer owes her too much, and Aaron loves Spencer too much. She's seen the entire FBI affected by this horrendous pairing, but she's been spared. Spared because she looked after a few dogs when Spencer was in jail, spared because she believed Spencer when he was innocent. Spared because she believed Spencer when he thought that Aaron was the serial killer everyone was looking for. Spared, because when Hotchner had asked her that day at the court hearing what she thought, she had defended Spencer. Spared, because she kind. Spared, because she was lucky. 

Not fussing about semantics, she was spared. 

She likes her little apartment, and she likes the cute guy who lives opposite her, Alejandro, who gets his mail in just his underwear, and shoots her a sexy grin. His English isn't great, but his accent is to die for, and she doesn't mind teaching him a few English lessons, one on one. 

The day that she and Alejandro are getting married, she pads to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast before all her friends arrive in a barrage of makeup and clothes and giggling, and she spots a postcard on the floor. She picks it up, and scrawled along it, in handwriting once familiar, reads 'Congratulations, Chica'. She knows who it's from. Known the man- well, the men, and the picture on the back is off four dogs. She recognises them. She knows she should be freaked out, should shred the card and cry, that her day should be ruined. 

But it isn't. 

She tries, and fails, to hold back a smile, and tucks the postcard into her kitchen drawer. 

Congratulations, indeed.

...  
...  
...

The sun is setting, as Spencer sits on a lounge chair out on the porch of their beautiful, reverted farm house, in the middle of the forest. He's reading one of Rossi's books, he never did get around to reading all of them, and he takes his time, dressed in a faded t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Zeus and Prometheus are under each of his arms, snoozing, and Icarus and Truth are on his legs, lazily swishing their tales at the butterflies that comes near the flowers around their house. The view is spectacular, looking in front of him now, Spencer sees a never ending expanse of grass, tall trees on the sides, and a makeshift horizon, where the globe of fire in the sky sinks ever further. He feels like he's out to sea. Isolated, happy. 

A whistle comes from inside the house, and the four dogs leap up and run inside, Spencer sighs, smiling to himself, before he stands and follows. 

In the dining room, Aaron is just placing their plates down, and the four dogs are in the corner, quietly, well trained, and are eating their own food. It looks delicious, as it always does. They don't say anything, Aaron leaning across the table to pour him some red wine, before kissing him softly, Spencer moans gently into the kiss, as a hand curls around his ear, they pull away, slightly breathless, and Aaron finishes pouring wine, a happy grin on his face. For a moment, there's only the sound of expensive silver cutlery being handled expertly.

“How does it taste?” Aaron asks, and Spencer feels a coy foot sliding up the inside of his leg. 

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, looking up at his boyfriend, as he swallow the soft as butter meat. Morgan meat. It's one of the sisters, Spencer doesn't know which one, but he's making dinner tomorrow, so he'll probably find out then. The meat melts on his tongue, falling apart wonderfully as he savours the sweet taste. He thinks about his answer for a second, before grinning and spreading his legs a little more for Aaron. “Delicious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. We. Go. 
> 
> Woah. 
> 
> Hope you guys liked it :))  
> x


End file.
